Tin- TWO li)CKI'TS, 



A ROMANTIC DRAMA 



IN THREE ACTS. 



B-2- JOXIIT I^. Ib-dT-fi-m^E-^. 



* 



Ci; 



Entered according to act of Congress, in tlie year 1883, by John I . Makke 
the office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington, D. C, 




NEW ORLEANS: 



1885. 



^~\ r 




Sr»ECIyVI^ NOTICIG. 

The Author of this Drama havinq- complied with all the requirements of the 
law, warns aciors, managers and others ng-ain;^t any infringment on his rights, in 
publicly producing- this play, without obtaining his written consent. 



THE TWO LOCKETS, 



A ROMANTIC DRAMA, 



IN THREE ACTS. 



B^ TOXHin^T lE^. i^A:^^-:Eii^:Enr. 



Entered according to act of Congress, in the year 1883, by John F. Markey, in 
the office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington, D. C. 




NEW ORLEANS: 
Patterson & Co., Puhlisiiers, 12 Union Street 



1885. 



< 






To MLR. I>AVID BIDWEL.L1, in earnest appreciation of his indefa- 
tigable EFFORTS IN CATERING TO THE DRAMATIC TASTE OF A NEW 
ORLEANS PUBLIC, AND IN RECOGNITION OF HIS SUCCESS 
AS A MANAGER, THIS PLAY IS MOST RESPECT- 
FULLY DEDICATED. J- F. M. 



CAST OF CHARACTERS: 

Mr. Sanders A Retired Merchant 

Gerald Gray His Nephew, 

Frank Travers ... A Black Sheep, 

Cage Spotter A Detective, 

Charles Coats A Miner, 

Jerry. Scribbler Reporter " Morning; News, 

*Barton Lindsey The Money Lender, 

Eva Sanders A Young Heiress, 

Martha Coats Her Companion, 

Kate Briggs A Domestic. 



SYNOPSIS OF DRAMA. 

ACT I.— Sanders Villa. The Accusation: " I am Cage Spotter, the 

Detective.'''' 

ACT II. — Sanders Hall. The Murder: '^Gerald Gray has killed me''^ 

ACT III. — Sanders Villa. The Two Lockets : A bright awakening 

from a sad, sad dream- 



'U the manager so desires, this part may be played as a Jew character. 



The Two Lockets. 



ACT I. 
^cene. — Exterior of Mr. Sander'' s house, K,iaiih steps leading into garden: 
railing fence i)i back ivith door in c./ tvood drop back of fence, tcible with 
rustic chairs and bench in garden, R. c./ hwge I'ase contdini7tgJlo7vers, 
1.. C. Lively music at rise of curtain, eight bars. 

Kate Briggs discoz'ejed arranging foTuers in vase. 

Kate. Now I am sure this lovely boquet will suit the refined tastes of my 
young mistress and her new chaperon, Miss Martha Coats. 1 do love to 
pass away my time among the roses, {coming doum to be7ich, L. ) Oh! dear 
how tired I am this morning, {sits) I do wish those nasty robbers had not 
paid us that visit during the night, and Mr. Sanders would have allowed us 
to take our usual rest, and not have us up and ru'-ning arouud the house like 
wild rabbets, long before it was daylight, {bell rings) Dear me, who can that 
be, at this time in the morning? {rises and looks off V) Bless me if it aint mv 
old sweetheart, Jerry Scribbler. 

{Enter Sciibbler, L. 2. E. 7i'ith roll of paper a7id pencil.) 

Scrib. Jeremiah Scribbler, Esq., city editor of the "Morning News." 
Well, Kitty, my dear, you're an early bird I see. 

Kate. (r. c.) "The early bird catches the worm," you know Scrib. 

Scrib. Hush! don't call me Scrib, rather ill-sounding my dear, especially 
for a gentleman of mv profession. But I say, Kitty — 

Kate, My name is not Kitty, its Catharine; and I prefer to be called that, 
since itsounds much better for a lady of my standing. 

Scrib. Hal ha! ha! come, thats good, but don't be angry with me, Kitty, 
haven't you promised that, one of these fine days, you will become Mrs. 
Jeremiah Scribbler.'' 

Kate. Yes, but I'm likely to change my mind, unless you give up those 
high toned airs which you have assumed ever since you quit the tadoiing 
business, to become a third rate ink slinger, in a fourth class pap -r office. 
Jeremiah Scribbler, indeed! with an E. S. Q. tacked on; wonder it wasn't an 
L. L. D,, that would be the proper title, then I could naturally guess it to be — 

Scrib. What? 

Kate. Long legged donkey. 

Scrib. Catharine — Miss Briggs — you astonish me. What would my 
friends think if they heard such language addressed to me? Me, Teremiah 
Scribbler, special correspo /dent for "De Functs Weekly" and leading editor 
of the "Morning News." I tell you Catharine, I will not tamely submit to 
such an insult, especially from the lips of her whom I hinl hoped to make 
my wife. I know what's the matter, you're in love with some other fellow, 
I suppose,and have taken this opportunity to get rid of me — well I'm g«>ing. 
{sits on bench i.. and ittrns from her. Kate down R ) There now, don't ask 
me to stay. I am sure you don't love me any longer, so I'll leave you at 
once; farewell Kn.\.e, {looks around) didn't you hear me Catharine? I said 1 
was going. 

Kate. \'ou don't seem to be in a hurry to get away. 

Scrib. Wont you say farewell to your old love? 

Kate, {boioing) Farewell Mr. Jeremiah Scribbler, E. S. (). and [y. L. D. 

Scrib. {rises) Confound it, I do believe the woman is without a heart {goes 
to her) tell me, Kitty, why do you speak to me in such a cool manner as that? 



4 THE TWO LOCKETS. 

Kate. I am following your instructions sir, I do not wish to apply an ill 
sounding name to a gentleman of your profession. 

Scrib. Oh! hang the profession, call me anything you like, but don't be 
angry with me. 

Kate. I'm not angry; only I should like to cure you of those high 
fangle notions of yours, that's all. Sometime or other you'll think yourself 
sucii agreat /az/z, that you'll blush to admit you ever did bestow a look 
of favorupon a poor orphan girl Itke me. {weeps) 

Scrib. Oh! Kate why do you jump at such a conclusion? You know that I 
always will love you, and when I spoke to you just Jiow, I did not intend 
to hurt your feelings, I only did it for the sake of my profession. One must 
stand upon his dignity you know. 

Kate. You may stand upon your head for all I care, provided you permit 
me to address you in my old familiar way. 

Scrib. So Kitty you love me then? 

Kate. Of course I do. Why shouldn't I love my old Scrib., even if his- 
head is a little turned. 

Scrib. \_hiiggi"ii ^i^f~\ Bless you; bless you for those words. 

Kate. What! about your head being turned? 

Scrib. Hang it, no. You understand what I mean. 

Kate. I think I do, but tell me Scrib; what has brought you around here 
so early this morning? 

Scrib. Oh! yes I had almost forgotten it. Come then, take a .'eat, and let 
me interview you? \_sits on bench L.J 

Kate. Interview me? I scarcely understand you, but proceed. 

Scrib. You see, Kitty, in my visit here this morning, I have combined 
business and pleasure, and — as the fellow said, who invited his friends to 
supper after his wife's funeral — pleasure being over, lets proceed to business. 

Kate. Be good enough to state your business, then we can proceed. \jits\ 

Scrib. Exactly; well as I was about to remark —or rather, as I was going 
to inquire — is there any truth in the rumors which I have heard this morn- 
ing, regarding a robbery which was committed here sometime during the 
night? \^Kate starts, Scribbler sharpens his pencil^ no evasive answer now; 
out with it, Yes or No? 

{^During the folloiving scene Scrib is meriting.'} 

Kate. Why yes. But lor me! how did 5'ou . come to hear about it ? bless 
me if news don,t travel like lightning in this here neighborhood of ours. 

Scrib. How did I hear it? Oh! we reporters are always on the alert, and 
catch an item where we least expect one. I tell you Kitty, nothing can es- 
cape us. If a man were to fall from the top of St. Paul's church, we would 
have the article written up, and published, before the fellow would reach the 
ground. 

Kate. Don't say! v^^ell now that's what I call real smartness. You're well 
paid for the work no doubt? 

Scrib. Well yes; thirty dollars a week is not such bad pay after all, and 
then we have perquisites you know. 

Kate. In the shape of free drinks, and theatre tickets, eh? 

Scrib. Yes — No; but lets proceed with our interview; at what time of night 
was the r 'bbery committed? 

Kate. Don't know; suppose you say between 7 p. M. and 7 A. M., that 
would come near it, I believe. 

Scrib. Very well, go on — [ivriting'} Sometivie during the night the resi- 
dence of Mr. Sanders was entered by a band of masked robbers. 

Kate. Hold on Scrib, how do you know the robbers were masked ? 

Scrib. To be sure they were masked, all robbers are masked nowadays, 
besides, it will make the article appear more sensational. Proceed, how 
many do you suppose were in the band? 



Kate. How am I to know, when I did not hear about the affair until this 
morning. 

Scrib. But you must have heard a noise in the house, sometime durino- the 
night? *" 

Kate. No, not even the bark of our dog. I never slept sounder in all my 
life. 

Scrib. Oh! I see, I see, [7c>n/es} a hand of masked robbers u< ho, upon en- 
tering, threw a poisoned sausage to the maid, chloroformed the dog and the 
other in/?iates of the house — proceed. 

Kale. Scrib, I do believe you're going mad. What is that you have written 
about the poisoned sausage? 

Scrib. ^looking at hii paper^ Oh! beg your pardon Kitty; I should have 
given the dog the sausage, and you the chloroform; but in my eagerness to 
get at the bottom of this affair, I find myself considerably mixed. 

Kate. And so were the drinks that you have laken this morning, I should 
think. You will have to excuse me for'the present, prises] please don't let me 
detain you any longer. I expect my mistress here in a few seconds, and 
must have the coffee ready for her. 

Scrib. Just so; well I can finish up this article after a while, [r/j^j] Perhaps 
when I call again, you can give me more information on the subject; good 
morning Kitt>. {^shake hands^ Try and find out all the particulars for me, 
by the time I return— do now, that's my own darling— I'm off now, take care 
of yourself till I come back. Igoes tip'] Remember, Kitty, where the interview 
was broken off. Just after you took the chloroform. (Exit i,.) 

Kate. ILookiiig after him] Well T declare, if that aint one of the maddest 
mad men, that I ever saw in all my life. Wonder if the little fool intends to 
publish such an article as that? poisoned sausage indeed; T should like to 
have a string of sausages around his neck, and hang him to one of the near- 
est lampposts. \_Crmes down] I do wish he would give up this newspaper 
business for I don't think I can ever marry him, while he Carries on in such 
a nonsensical manner. 

Eva. \_calloJf'K] Kittty! 

Kate. Coming ! Miss Eva's voice; lor me, she will see by my face, that 
something unusual has happened {j^vipes face with apron— goes up and meets 
Eva and Martha 7uho en to R. rnusic plaintive, four bars.\ 
. Eva. Kitty, you have kept us waiting this morning; have you the coftee 
ready? 

Kate. I will go and bring it immediately Miss; you will find your bouquet 
in the vase yonder \^Eva goes down l] Miss. Martha, shall it be coffee or 
chocolate this morning? 

Martha. A drop of black coffee, if you please. Kitty; the excitement this 
morning has unnerved me, and I will take the coffee as a stimulant. [A^ate 
do7vs and exits into house. Martha comes down K. and sits in chair at table] 

Eva. Oh! my, what a pretty bunch of roses this is to be sure, {sits at tab/e] 
Martha have you ever seen anything so lovely? I declare it is perfectly 
charming. 

Martha, {taking bouquet] It is certainly very pretty, Eva, but I regret tn 
say, that I am in such a despondent mood at present, that even those lovely 
flowers have no charms for me. It is a shame, I know, to allow this feeling 
to take hold of me. But oh! P>a, I cannot, I cannot m?ster it. {Drops />ou- 
quet on table] 

Eva. Are you ill Martha? {rises and goes toicards her] 

Martha. No my dear, not exactly ill, only low spirited. There is a feel- 
ing of dread about me, and, try as I will, I cannot arouse myself from this 
frightful despondency. 

Eva. You surely have no cause to be sad my dear. Have I not been kind 
to you, ever since you have taken up your abode here with us? and oh! 
Martha you know that I love you as dearly as a sister. 



b THE TWO LOCKETS. 

Martha. Bless you my own darling [;7.ft\f] you have been too good to me. 
I have received nothing but kindness, at the hands of yourself and your good 
kind father. 

Eva. And cousin Gerald alsc; I am sure he loves you, ever so much, and 
would do anything to please you. 

Martha. \_agitated'\ Hush, Eva, it is not proper for you to speak in that 
manner. Mr. Gray is very friendly to me, to be sure, but it is for your sake; 
he respects me as his cousin's companion. 

Eva. [cr;r///v] I think, I have discovered in my cousin's actions towards 
you. a semblance of a stronger feeling than friendship. 

Martha. \_Starting^ Eva, if you love me — as T know you do — you will not 
trifle with my feelings in that manner. Gerald Gray can never be anything 
but a friend to nie, and I shall always respect him as such. [Kitty enters frovi 
Jionsc tvith coffee on tray and places it on table'} But let us change the subject, 
my head aches, and I think this mouthful of coffee will revive me. \_sips coffee] 

Eva. I hope it will, Martha, <or it grieves me to see you sad. Kitty, does 
my father know that we are waiting for him? 

Kate. I told him you were in the garden. Miss, but he is so busy 
in hunting all over the house, for the lost jewelry, tint I don't think you need 
expect him fo*- some time. 

Eva. Poor man; he still believes that the box containing the jewelry, has 
been mislaid; but that is not the case, for Martha and I hive looked every 
where; and it cannot be found. 

Martha. No, it was certainly taken from the house sometime during the 
night, for, as your father says, he saw the box, late yesterday evening. Its 
loss seems to effect him very much, and no doubt, the box contained 
some very costly jewels. 

Eva. Yes, I believe it did; some priceless relics of his younger days; but 
their intrinsic value, I cannot estimate, for I have never seen them. Ah! I 
hear my father's footsteps. Kitty you may leave us now. [^exit Kyiiy wit /i 
coffee and tray, who on going up jneets Mr. Sanders, tvho enters slo^olv from 
Jiouse R. 

Sand. Gone, and may the curses of an old man, follow him who has robbed 
me of this sacred treasure, (^sees Kate) Kate, prepare a room immediately, 
in the servants quarters, for a new gardener, whom I have employed, and 
who will be likely to call during the day. [Kate hnvs and exits. Sanders 
eomes do^wn R . 

[^Aside] Yes, I have placed this matter in the hands of one, whose skill as 
a detective, is known, and praised by every one. Cage Spotter, will ferret out 
the guilty party, if he has to scour the country in search of him. 

Eva. \_Goes over to hini\ Father, have you discovered any traces of the 
missing jewels? 

Sand. No, darling; my search has been a useless one. I am now con- 
vinced they have been taken from the house. \to Martha] Martha, are yon 
feeling any better my child? perhaps a little rest would do you good. 

Martha. Thanks Mr. Sanders, I am much better now; the fresh morning 
air seems to have revived my drooping spirits. 

Sand. I am glad of that my dear, would that I could say as much for myself. 
\sits on bench at L] 

Eva. [sitting beside hivi . ] And what can make my own dear papa sad? 
surely not the paltry loss he has sustained. You are rich; and money can at 
any time, replace the missing jewels. 

Sand. No, Eva; half my fortune would I gladly give, yes, and ten years 
of my life with it, to have returned to me, one, only one, of the many trinkets 
which that box contained. 

Martha, \_goes over] And that one, has in iiself, above all the rest, a price- 
less value? 

Sand. To me yes; it can never be replaced. Sit here beside me Martha. 



{she sits) I will let yourself and Eva into the .s'"cret, you can then judge fcr 
yourselves the extent of my loss. 

Eva. Uhl father I am so anxious to hear about it, I always knew there 
was a mystery connected with that box, but, as you never volunteered an ex- 
planation, it would be unbecoming of me to request one. 

Sand. Well, you shall hear it now. Many, many years ago, there lived in 
England, a poor farmer who had two children, a boy and girl; near them, 
lived a wealthy merchant who had but one child, an only daughter. The 
farmer's boy was a bright, intelligent lad, and acknowledged by all to be, 
what the world calls handsome, he was beloved by every one that knew him, 
and his good qualities, did not fail to attract the notice of his rich neighbor, 
who assisted the boy in completing his education, and afterwards placed liim 
in a good position in his own store. 

Martha. How very kind. It reminds me of your own goodness to me, sir. 

Eva. I'eople are not so kind and charitable novvadays, are they father? 

Sand. Well not all of them my dear. However, the lad having gained the 
good will of his employer, rapidly advanced from one position to another, un- 
til he became the head clerk of the establishment. With a bright and prom, 
ising future before him, he had nothing more to wish for now; but unfortun- 
ately he fell desperately in love— as all young men at the age of twenty one 
are apt to do — his fair charmer, being no less a personage, than the daughter 
of his wealthy employer. 

Eva. How delightful — 

Maltha. Just as I expected. 

Sand. His attentiors weie encouraged by her, in fact she reciprocated his 
love, and it was evident to all, that her father's clerk was the favored one 
amongst her many suitors. All went well, uniil her father heard of the exist- 
ing state of affairs, when he became perfectly frantic; he dismissed the young 
man from his service, and swore dire vengence against him, should he persist 
in his attentions toward the lovely heiress. 

Ev.i. Oh! my, how cruel of him. No doul t, had the poor farmer's boy 
been a rich man's son, the wealthy merchant would have looked upon things 
in a very different light. 

Martha. You are old enough, Eva, to know that such is the case, the world 
over; fiction writers will sometimes stretch their imagination, to suit the 
ideas of their romantic readers, but in stern reality, seldom, if ever, do we 
b?hold the spoiled child of fortune, seeking its companion at the poor man's 
treshold. 

Eva. And a crying shame it is that such should be the case. The evil, 
however, lies not with the child; but with its parents, who sometimes, abso- 
lutely dictate the course they wish their offspring to persue, without consider- 
ing the ultimate result, and regardless of their child's future happiness. 

Sand. Rather a strong way of putting it my dear. Asa general rule, I 
consider it the duly of the child to consult its parents, in matteis of this kind, 
and be mrre or less guided by their decision. Whilst admitting the fact that 
parents will somcdnus make a mistake, in forcing a marriage that may after- 
wards prove detrimental to their child's happiness, or, on the other hand, pre- 
vent one, which would be condus ve of good results; at the same time, I hold, 
that their experience veiy often enables them to be the proper judges in the 
matter, and their advice should be entitled to some respect and consideration. 

Eva. They should advise then, and not command. But proceed father, I 
am beginning to get interested in your narrative. 

Sand. Weil, the, young man knew that his poverty was the cause of this 
harsh treatment at the hands of the girl's father, so he determined, if possible, 
to remove the barrier which p evented him from ever hoping to obtain the 
hand of his adored one, and concluded to leave England, and seek his fortune 
elsewhere. The night before his departure, he met, according to appoint- 
ment, the idol of his^young heart. I will not attempt to describe this parting 



S THE TWO LOCKETS. 

scene between the faithful lovers — but, after an affectionate leave taking, the 
young heiress produced a pair of magnificent gold lockets, inlaid with oia- 
monds, both of them exactly alike, and each coiitaining his picture, and her 
own. "This, "said she, handing one of the lockets to her lover, "is for you, and 
the other, I will retain; let us keep them as tokens of our lovefor each other, 
and never part with them, until we meet again." The next day, the young 
man sailed from England, but he was only a few days out at sea, when his 
ship was wrecked in a storm; fortunately, however, he was one of the few 
who were saved, and, upon reaching his destinatim, wrote immediately to 
England, informing his friends of his narrow escape; but, strange to say, he 
received no answer to his letter, he wrote again — still no reply — another 
letter; yet no answer. Finally, he heard that his father and sister had left 
England, and the letters which he had sent to bis sweetheart, were intercepted 
by her father, who concealed from his daughter the fact of the young man's 
deliverance^ and led her to believe that he had perished with the others. 

Eva. Deceitful wretch! cculd one believe that a father would be so ungrate- 
ful to his child? 

Sand. After lamenting for a long time the unhappy fate of her lover, whom 
she believed dead; she was finally prevailed upon, by her father, to marry the 
man whom he haH chosen to become her husband. Well, when this news 
reached the young man's ears, it drove him almost to distraction; his sorrow 
brought on a prolonged sickness; but, thanks to the tender care bestowed up- 
on him, by the good people with whom he was living at the time, and the 
kind treatment he received at the hands of their lovely daughter, he survived 
the shock and afterwards, married the young lady who had watched and 
waited upon him during his sickness. They were not long united however, 
his wife died just one year after their marriage, leaving behind her an only 
child, who has been a lo^ing and affectionate daughter to me ever since, ami 
here she is. ( P^iis arms arojimi Eva and kisses her), 

Martha. AnH so, Mr. Sanders, you are the poor farmer's boy; yourself the 
hero of the story which you have just related. 

Sand. I am. And the box which was stolen from here, la^t night, contained 
among other things, the locket which was given me by my beloved one, on 
the eve of my departure from England. With my own life, it was all I saved 
at the time our ship was lost at sea; it has never left my possession since, and 
would have gone with me to the grave, had not some perfidious wretch robbed 
me of it. [;7>^j-] 

Martha. Knowing as we do now, the history of the missing locket, we can 
deeply sympathize with you at its loss. But, be not disheartened sir, you may 
yet recover it. 

Sand. I hope so Martha, for I assure you I will leave no stone uniurned in 
the search for the culprit. But I must now leave you my children, as the day 
is far advanced, and I have some important business to arrange, \exii into 
house R.] 

Eva. Well really, I did not think that my father, cold and morose as his 
disposition is, could have ever loved. 

Martha. The bitter diappointment which he experienced in his early love, 
is no doubt the cause of his seemingly unaffectionate nature; I say seemingly, 
Eva, for I know that your father's affection for you, is very great; and his 
kindness to me, is sufficient proof that his heart is not as cold as one would 
suppose it to be. 

Eva. True, Martha, he is one of the best of fathers, and my heart aches for 
him because I know he is sad; br.t I will go to him, and try and console him 
all I can. I do wish Gerald would return from town, the place is so lone- 
some without him. 

Martha. You expect Mr. Travers also, I believe? 

Eva. Yes; they will return together . I was in hope that when he left 
last night, he would not come back, but, on Gerald's invitation, he is to re- 
main here for at least a month longer. I do not like the man, and I assure 



ACT I. 9 

you, Martha, it is a hard task for me to appear agreeable towards a person to 
whom I have taken a dislike. 

Martha. Mr. Travers seems tohave taken a decided fancy to you my dear. 

Eva. I presume that is the cause of my antipathy towards him. Well I'm 
going my dear. [,^w.r up siai^e^ I know some one who has taken quite a fancy 
to you, Martha, {exits into house R.] 

Martha. Foolish girl, {sits) As if I am not aware of her cousin's love fur 
me. She little knovvs, that it may lead to serious results, and be the cause of 
parting her and me forever. Oh! why does he love me so? I who am so far 
beneath him in wealth and social position. What have I to give him but a 
pure heart, and Heaven knows he has taken that already, {rises'] Yes I can- 
not deny the fact, I love Gerald Gray, but God only knows what may be the 
consequences. What am I to do? If I remain here, I will surely betray my 
love to him — and if I go — but where would I go ? its foolish of me to think 
of such a thing — No, I will watch and wait, and Heaven, in its own good 
time, will, 1 hope, bring all things right. {Lively music. tenter 
Gerald c. Vi. dressed in ridin<' costume with whip in hand. He walks dotvn 
stacre, on toes, and places hands over Martha's eyes. 

Martha, {starts'] Bless m^! who is that? Why Eva, how you frighten me. 

Gerald. Ha! ha! ha! Well I declare, Martha, I expected y-.u would give 
P closer guess than tliat; do these clumsy hands of mine feel as soft as cousin 
Eva's fingers? 

Martha, {confused] Ah! excuse me, Mr. Gray; I was not looking for you — 
thot is — I mean^ did not expect you to return so soon. 

Gerald. I understand. Well I should have remained away a little longer, 
and see what effect my return would have, after a few weeks absence. 

Martha. 'Tis well you have come; the place was so lonesome without 
you — at least, so Miss Eva has j^ist remarked. 

Gerald. Did '>he? Well I am glad some one has missed me. I don't sup- 
pose you have found :he place so very lonesome, Martha? 

Martha. Why, you were only away one night, Mr. Gray; you speak as if 
you had travelled quite extensively. 

Gerald, ludging from your manner towards me, I presume it would make 
very little difference to you, if I had gone to the North Pole, and remained 
there for warm weather to set in. 

Marthn. Your judgment is at fault then, for in that case I would write, 
and beg you to return immediately. 

Gerald. You would? {advancing towards her). 

Martha. Yes, for your overcoat, laughing) 

Gerald. Confound it; Martha, why can't you be serious in this matter? 
You kuow 1 love you, T have told you so already; and yet, you refuse to give 
me one word of hope or encouragement. Oh! how can you treat me so? 

Martha. Hush, Mr. Gray; some one may be listening, and besides, this is 
no time for love making, when 'here is such confusion here. 

Gerald. Confusion! How? 

Mariha. About a robbery, which was committed in the house sometime 
during the night; and, your uncle is very uneasy about the loss he has 
sustained. 

Gerald. A robbery! at what time did it occur? 

Martha. No one knows; we did not discover it until th's morning. 

Gerald. Bless me, if that aint news. The amount must be very great, 
since you say my uncle is so worried about it. 

Martha. To him the 1( ss is very great; for he assures us, that half his for- 
tune would not replace what has been stolen. 

Gerald. This is too bad. I do wish. Travers was here, he is a cute fellow, 
and would assist us in finding, out a clue. 

Martha. He was t-xpected to return with you, I believe? 

Gerald. Yes— but he left me at the turnpike, as he had some business in 
the city, however I expect him here shortly. 



]0 THE TWO LOCKETS 

Martha. Well, I will go and announce your arrival, to your uncle and Miss 
I-Cva; they are both anxious to see you. 

Ger. Do; and say, that I will be with them presently. (Gerald leads her 
to steps; exit Martha R. Gerald comes down i:. 

Gerald. {Looking at wa.tch. ) It is n( w past mid-day. What can be keeping 
Frank? I hope he has not forgotten his promise to me, of renouncing that 
gambling mania which seems to have taken hold of him. Ah! me, how some 
young men throw themselves heedlessly into the arms of misfortune. It is a 
great pity, for my young friend to thro.v hnnself away in that manner, and I 
am determined he will not do it, if I can prevent him. 

Frank. {Speaking off' c") Well, come along then. If you're an honest man 
you will not be afraid of showing yourself. 

Gerald. That is Frank's voice, I wonder what is up? 
{Enter Frank c. dragging in Spotter 70/10 is disguised as a German gardener. ) 

Spot. Dont tore my clos. Dot vos de pest suit vot I got, und Gretcheii 
put me new patches on, only yesterday. 

Frank. Well why don't you walk then? see here Gerald, stick a pin in this 
fellow, and see if he's alive. 

Gerald. What's the matter, Frank? what has the fellow been doing? 

Spot. Dot is vot 1 like to know myself, vot 1 have been doing ? 

Frank. What have you been doing? Why, didn't I find you prying around 
this gentleman's house, in a very suspicious looking manner? and didn't yuu 
try to hide your,- elf, when you saw me coming? 

Spot. Mine Got! I believe dot man vas crazy, I dont vas Paul Pry, mine 
frend. My name vas Fritz von Bluff, und I come here to look for work. 

Frank. Through the window of a person's house, is not the place to look 
for work. 

Spot. Nine; I dont look on dat window through. I yust ax de lady, mit 
dem russels on de apron, if she would give me a drink of vater. 

Gerald. Frank, 1 think your suspicion about this fellow is well founded. 
I say my friend, I've no doubt you have been in this house before? 

Spot. Nine. 

Gerald. But I say yes, Mr. Von Bluff; and I believe you are the one, who 
committed the robbery here last night. 

Frank, [starting] A robbery, Gerald? 

Gerald. Yes, and I think this fellow can tell us something about it. 

Frank, [aside] So they have discovered it already. Well, mums the word. 
[shakes Spotter] Come, you rascal, I knew you were a rogue, the moment I 
set my eyes upon you, out with the truth now, or I'll break ever) bone in 
your body. Was it you committed the robbery? 

Spot. Mine Got! Mine Got! you shake me all the buttons off luine coat, so 
help me gracious I don't know vot you talking about. 

Gerald. We are talking about a robbery, and 1 believe you are the guilty 
party. 

Spot. Nine, nine. I never stole me five cents since I vas born. 

Frank. Then, what business have you prowling round here? 

Spot. Veil, I told you I vas looking for work, und the gentleman vat lives 
here, have sent for me to fix up his flower garden. 

Gerald. We will soon see if your statement is correct. Here Frank, take 
hold of this fellow and let us bring him to my uncle. 

P'rank. Come along Mr. Bluff; we will inquire into the merits of your case. 
[Gerald and Frank Zr/;/^ Spotter into the house R. 

Enters Scribbler loJio discovers them. 

Scrib. What does all this mean? Ah! they have captured the thief no doubt. 
By Jupiter this promises to be a first class article for the "Morning News," 
and the best of it is, that none of the other papers have got on to the racket 
yet. Scribbler you're a trump. Your smartness will be the making of you. 
I wonder where Kitty is? I should like to finish our interview. [Looks into 



ACT I. 21 



house K-\ I would give half my ^A eeks wages, if I could only manage to rret 
into that house, and And out what is going on. Let's see, perhaps I may be 
able to discover something from the outside. I don't like to play the sdv 
you know, but the end justifies the means, {peeps iftto house] Eh! what's'that 
1 see? they are accusing the fellow, before the gentleman of the house who 
seems to be questioning him very closely. The fellow hands a note to Mr 
Sanders who is reading it. [laughing heard 7vitl>out] All hands are lauehin?' 
there is evidently a mistake. Mr. Sanders poit ts in this direction— the fel 
low IS coming this way. and by Jove, Kitty is coming along with him. Now 
tor a place to hide myself until 1 can find out the meaning of all this, [hides] 
[^'^^^'' Spotter ajtd Kitty K. from house.] 
Kitty. A curious mistake sir, but T hope you are not offended. Frav whnt 
is your name my good man? ^ 

Bluff^^' ■^"^^ ''''" ^^"^' ^°'' ^'"''^'^ '''''''''^' """^ ^ '''•'^ y""" ^'''' ^''^- ^'"" 

Scrib. [/>ack] Eh! what's that? 

Kate. Very familiar on short acquaintance, Mr. Von Bluff, but I'll not be 
hard on you, considering the rough treatment which you have just received 

Spot. \aw! \aw! dein fellows pinch me mv nrms black und blue und 
spoil my new cloths. 

Kate. Ha! ha! ha! What a funny mistake. 
_ Spot. Yaw! dot vas awful funny. I vould not steal me nothing here excent 
It vas you I stole. ' ' 

Scrib. The rascal, I should like to punch his head. 
p ^S^^^' ^ ^°"'^ ^^''"'^ ^ would be worth the trouble of your taking, Mr Von 

• ^^^' S^' r^°"'^ ^^^'^ "^^ ^"^^ ^'^y' "^^^ ^'^^^ eyes. You make my head 
jump, und I feel de blood dancirg on de tops of my fingers. 

Scrib. I shall make the blood dance from the top of your nose, presently 

Kate Well, sir; I will leave you now to perform your work, you will find 
the garden implements behind the house yonder, when dinner is ready I will 
send tor you. -^' 

Spot. Oh! dont you go yet; cant you told me something about dot robbery 
yot everybody speaks so much about? ■ 

Kate. All I can tell, you is that some valuable jewelry was taken from the 
Jiouse during the night, and we are all an.xious to find out who the thit-f can 

Spot. So, some jewelry eh! how the thief ccme in the house? [Scribbler 
comes doum between them.] 

Scrib. I wouldn't mind knowing that myself, dutchy? 

Spot. Jimminy! who vas dot? 

Kate. Only an old sweetheart of mine. Mr. Von Bluff, don't mind hi-n 
[Spotter r^Z/rt-j- ///.] , ' * 

Scrib. Well Kitty, what comes after the poisoned sausage^ 

K?te. Colic, I should think, Scrib. 

Scrib. Humliug; I mean, have you any more information for me? 

Kate. Nothing— only what you know already; Master Gerald and his 
friend, Mr. Travers, have returned from town, however, and perfians thev 
will be able to discover a clue. ^ 

Scrii>. [Points to <^^oi] I thought they had discovered one just now 
[vSpotter comes do7vn[ 

Kate. Oh, no, this is our new gardener; let me intrD.luce you to him- Mr 
Von B.uff. my friend Mr. Scribbler, [they shake hands.] 

Scrib. Glad to meet you. So it wa< a bluff then after all. 

Spot. Yaw, yaw; von big bluff. They thought I vas a robber. 

Scrib. A very natural mistake for them' to make, I assure you. 

Spot. Eh! Vot you mean? 

Scrib. I mean, that you look more like a thief than a mule. 

Spot. Ha! ha! ha! you vas a funny fellow, [gees up] 



]2 THE TWO LOCKETS. 

Scrib. I say Kitty, if I see that fellow making love to you again, as he has 
b:en doing just now, there will be a job for an undertaker around here; do 
you unde stand? 

Kate. That will be a grave offense, my dear, and I hope you'll not imder- 
take to do it. 

Scrib. Come, no punning, now I'm serious in what I say. I don't like his 
familiarity toward you. and I hope you will put an end to it at once. 

Kate. {Aside'] Bless me if the little fool aint jealous, [io hirn] Well Jerry, 
I thought you had a better opinion of me than that; but to convince you of 
what little respect I have for the fellow, why, I will snub him at once \to 
Spot] Von Bluff you may retire for a while, we desire to be alone. 

Spot. So you want I go out, eh! I reckon you got some secrets vot you 
don't want J hear; all right my little pigeon, I go. \He goes towards house 
kissing hts hand to Kate. ] 

Scrib. Damn! the fellow. I'll break every bor.e in his body, [runs tozvard 
Spotter 10 ho disappears behind house.] 

Scrib. [Coining do7on.] Confound his impudence; if he hasn't the greatest 
amount of cheek I ever saw in all my life. 

Kate. Ha! ha! ha! Dont be jealous Scrib; old Von Fluff will make no im- 
pression on me, I assure you. [Spotter peeps from behind house. 

Scrib. Damn me if I wouldn't like to make an impression on him. 
Kitty, the fellow will be likely to annoy you,- and if he does, only let 
me know, and curse me if 1 dont pound him into a jelly. 

Kate. You need not be afraid Jerry, I'll keep him in his proper place. 
Scrib. Well if you dont [Discovers S^poi peeping] Curse him there he is a 
gain [Runs toward Spotter and hits up against Mr. Sanders 7uho enters fi om 
Jiouse. 

Sand. Hello! What does all this mean? Are you mad sir? 
Scrib. Yonr pardon, Mr. Sanders, I hope you're not hurt sir. I assure 
you it was unintentional. 

Sand. Come sir, leave this place immediately. \\ hat right have you to 
carry on so in a gentleman's garden? 

Kate. Don't be hard on him. Master — I assure you sir, he meant no offense. 

Sand. It is offense enough, to keep you idleing your time away in the 

garden here, go in doors Miss, and see if you cannot find better employment. 

[exit Kate] And you sir, go about your business; that is, if you have any 

business to go about. 

Scrib. Undoubtedly, I have sir; and that is just what brought me here. 
Sand. Well, what is your business? 

Scrib. [Hands card] My card sir, if you please, [bozvs] Jeremiah Scribbler, 
Esq., Editor of the "Morning News." [They come doavn stage.] 

Sand. Well; Mr. Scribbler I persume you know who I am. So be kind 
enough to state your business. 

Scrib. [Takes out note book and pencil] Exactly — Well, as you are aware 
sir, I am a newspaper reporter, and, it having come to my knowledge thit a 
most daring jobbery was committed 'n your hose, I have taken the liberty of 
calling upon you, for the purpose of obtaining any information, you will be 
pleased to give me on the suSject. 

Sand. Oh, is that all? well what I have to say is this — 
Scrib. [Eagerly] Yes sir, proceed — perhaps we had better be seated I efore 
you begin, [sits] 

Sand. yAside) Confound such impudence, [to him] What I have to say sir 
will be said in very few words. Are you aware of the fact, that I keep chained, 
behind the house there, a very savage dog? 

Scrib. Yes, but they have poisoned him, as I understand, proceed. 
Sand. Poisoned him! [aside] Perhaps you will have cause to think other- 
wise before long, {to him] W^ell sir, that dog has a natural hatred for sewing 
machine agents, lightening rod canvassers — 
Sciib. Yes, sir; yes sir. Proceed. 



ACT I. 13 

Sand. And newspaper reporters. 

Scrib. [Starting] Eh! what? How fortunate tliat brute is not alive. 

Sand, Now sir, do you see that door? [points] 

Scrib. Yes, so they entered througli that door? Eh? 

vSand. Well, if you don't immediately make tracks in that direction, you 
will surely regret that the dog is still alive, and will show you the love he 
has for a n'^wspaper mm. Here Fido! Fido! [dog harks. 

Scrib. Oh! dont, for heaven ; sake dont; I will retire, his very bark makes 
me nervou> [rises] Good day, Mr. Sanders, I hope I haven't annoyed you 
sir.. Exit. Dog barks as he is going out, he jumps and runs off \^. 

Sand. Blast the fellows i upudence. I should have thrown him out head 
foremost. To come around here and annoy me in that manner, when God 
knows I am troubled enough already. Not only by the loss I have sustained, 
but to think, that after all, I may be disappointed in my expectations of 
gaining my nephew's consent to this marriage with Miss Harrington, the 
lady I have chosen to become his wife. I have discovered the object of 
Gerald's affections; his love for Martha Coats is no longer a secret; he be- 
trays it in every action, and breathes it in every word he utter?. Yes, the 
woman has taken complete possession of his heart; but he may rest assured 
that I will neuer consent to a union with one so far beneath him. 
[Spotter comes doiun from behind honse.] 

Spot. Mr, Sannders. — 

Sand. Ah! Spotter. — 

Spot. Hush, how can you be so imprudent, sir? Von Bluff is my name for 
the present. i 

Sand. True, true. How r re you progressing, my friend? 

Spot. Slowly. Who is the chap who has just left here? 

Sand. .\ party by the name of Scribbler — a newspaper man, and a very 
impudent fellow. 

Spot. 'Tis well you gave him no information; it might possibly interfere 
with my ] lans. 

Sand. What are your plans? 

Spot. Well, as yet, I have not decided on any definite course to persue in 
the matter, but, having weighed the subject thoroughly in my mind, I have 
come to my own conclusion regarding the robbery. 

Sand. Any may I ask what conclusion you have come to ? 

Spot. Certainly; In the first place, the robbery was not committed by any 
professional burglar, for the simple reason, that other valuables were left un- 
touched, in the same too '. from whence the jewelry was taken; and second, 
it being impossible for any one to gain an entrance into this place during the 
night without being discovered, the robbery must have been committed by 
one of the inmates of the house. 

Sand. Why, really sir, you astonish me. I am at a loss to know whom 
we might suspect. 

Spot. All I ask of you for the present, is to let your >uspicions rest upon 
no one, leave the case in my hands sir, and I assure you, I will bring it home 
to the guilty one, at the proper time. 

Sand. Well, relying as I do in your ability, I will be governed by 
your ndvice. But there is another matter, of great importance to me, in 
which, perhaps, you would be able to render me some assistance. 

Spot. What is it? 

Sand. My friend Hairington, of the banking firm of Harrington & Moore, 
has, as you are no doubt aware, a very lovely daughter; not only beiutiful, 
but immensely rich. Well, it has been quietly agreed, between her father 
and I, that she is to become the wife of my nephew, Gerald Gray; unfortun- 
ately, however, I am very much afraid that we have been calculatin ; without 
our host, for 1 have discovered that Gerald's affections are entirely centered 
upon Martha Coats— my dough ter's companion— and, I assure you it would 



14 THE TWO LOCKETS. 

hurt me very much, to see the boy throw himself away in that manner; and 
so I appeal to vou as a friend, to assist me in spoiling their little game. 

Spot. It would he, not only improper, but very risky on my part, to inter- 
fere in this matter, but however, as a friend of yours, I will see what can be 
done. Now I must leave you, for the present, to avoid suspicion, and at- 
tend to the business I have on hand. \_Exit into house.] 

Sand. (^Looking after hiiii) Sly old fox that. Well, my mind is easy now, 
lor I know that both causes are in good hands. Ah! who is this? My love 
sick nephew and his fair charmer; I will conceal m) self and take in the situa- 
tion, {hides behind house. ) 

[Enter Gerald and Marthayr</;« house. R.] 

Ger. {Coming doxim.) Martha, how can you ask me such a question as 
that? can I help loving you? you, who are so good; so pure, so noble; from 
the first time that fate has brought us iace to face together, I have become 
perfectly infa uated, and, I tell you now in all sincerity of heart, that I 
love vou, as man has nsver loved before. 

Martha. Oh! Gerald — Mr. Gray — I know not what to say. 

Gerald. Say that 1 am not indifferent to you, only bid me hope, and I can 
ask no more. 

Martha. Mr. Gray — this — this — 1 am not prepared for — I mean — Oh! 
God I cannot say what I mean. 

Gerald. [Taking her hand ] Do you love me then? '"ay it dearest, only 
say the word which will make me happy or miserable forever. 

Martha. Why should you be miserable? surely you do not deserve to be so. 

GeralJ. It is in your power to prevent it. My happiness is in your hands; 
destroy, or secure it now; but I mast know the truth. Answer me, Martha, 
do you !ove me? 

Martha. [Falls on his neck] I do, Gerald. Heaven help me, I do. 

Gerald. My own true love [kisses he)-] And you will become my wife? 

Martha. [Aside] Spirit of my departed mother look down and answer for 
your bewildered child. 

Gerald. Will you not answer me, Martha? 

Martha. I will; Gerald Gray, listen to me. I am only a poor girl, a do- 
mestic in your uncle's house, living npon his bounty as a hired governess to 
his only child; you, are rich, an heir to your uncle'e fortune. You know, 
and so do I, that he has his plans already laid for your future welfare; 
would it become me then, to frustrate those plans, by encouraging you 
in the step you propose to take? No, Gerald, I love you, but I cannot 
have you sacrefice your happiness for my sake. 

Gerald. My happiness can only be sacreficed by loosing you. What is 
my uncles wealth to me? What care I for riches, if the only woman I 
ever loved, share it not with me? And, if it be a sacrefice on my part, to re- 
linquish all claim to my prospective fortune; the only reward I ask for it, 
is to have you always by my side, to cheer me with your smile, and bless me 
with your presence. 

Martha. It would be a poor return for all the kindness and affection that 
have has been shown me by your uncle, were I to consent to a marriage with 
you contray to his wishes. No Gerald, it cannot be; I love you, as I said be- 
fore, but, without your uncles consent, I can never become your wife. 

Gerald. Then Martha, listen to me; (kneeling) here I swear to renounce 
all claim and title which I now possess, and plead to you, upon my bended 
knees, — not as the wealthy heir of Edwind Sanders, — but as poor Gerald 
Gray, to retract the words you have just uttered, and promise me that, with 
or without my uncle's consent, }ou will become my wife. 

Sand, {comes down from behind houie.) Net if I can prevent it. 
{they both siart.) Truly a fine speech. Master Gerald, and would have had 
some effect, no doubt, if delivered before she rejected your offer. 

Gerald, {rising) Tis false sir, the lady has not rejected me. 

Sand. Well, perhaps she may condescend to accept you, after she has had 



ACT I. 15 

time t.:) think the matter over, {to her) You may retire Miss — my 
daughter may be looking for you. (/T-W/' Martha.) Now Gerald, a word 
with you if you please. 

Gerald. Pray sir, let this interview be as short as possible, and, before you 
begin, let me inf rm you, that I do not desire to be brought to an account 
regarding that which has just transpired between myself, and the lady whom 
I love. 

Sand. I am your uncle, and your guardian, and as such, I will exercise my 
right of enfocreing a compliance with my wishes, which I am sure will not 
be detrimental to your future welfare. 

Gerald. And I deny your authority, sir, of interfering with me in matters 
of this kind. I am no longer a child, but am capable of judging for myself, 
the importance of the step I am about to take. It is your wish that I should 
marry Alice Harrington; It is my desire to become the husband of Martha 
Coa's, and, while 1 respect your wishes, I assure you sir, that I will not 
gratify them at the risk of my own happiness. My future life is my own, 
and I propose to make it worth the living. 

(Martha appears at the door dressed for ttaveling. ) 

Sand. Perhaps you forget sir, that my fortune is my own, and, I can dis- 
pose of il as I see fit. 

Gerald. I have alrtady said that if a marriage with with Miss Harrington, 
be one of the conditions upon which I am to share your fortune, I renounce 
all claim to it, and never hope to see a dollar of your money. 

Sand. And you will marry Martha Coats? 

Gerald. I will sir, if she accepts my offer. 

Sand. Do it then, and I will not only cut )Ou off with a shilling,but I will 
disown ycu as ray nephew, and drive you penniless from my sight (Martha 
disappears.) Mark my words Gerald Gray {stage dark) just as sure as 
night is now approaching, you will have cause to repent, if you heed not 
my advice but I have warned you, and so take care. {Exit ] [Gerald 
drops into chair and covers face lint h his hands.] \_Miisic. Enter Martha 
slo7cdy from house, comes djwn stage with letter in her hand. Tremolo 
mits ic iiu ring speech . ] 

Martha. Ah! there he is, God pity him, how my heart bleeds for him, 
and yet I must leave him in his sorrow; leave him — no! no! I cannot, 
.Ger — Stay, is it rot for his sake that I would take this step? My love for 
him is pure and unselfish, and 1 would sacrefice that love, to save him from 
a life of |>overty. This letter will explain all. {puts letter on table) Perhaps 
when I am far away he will forget me, and. asthe husband of Alice Harring- 
ton, he will bless the day that 1 secured his happiness, at the sacrifice of my 
own. Farewell, Gerald Gray — my first — my only love farewell. And Eva too 
poor dear child — 1 know that she will miss me, but, when sht^ learns the 
truth, she will thank me for her cousin's sake, and say that I was right 
\exit mirridly L] [Gerald starts and looks around, then places his hands on 
head and rises. 

Gerald. Is this a dream? I thought I heard her voice. Bless her 
she is ever foremost in my memory, and her lovely form is constantly before 
my eyes. \Secs letter.] Eh! what is this? a letter! and in her own hand- 
writing, what does it contain? [Music — Gerald eargtrly tears open letter and 
reads it, utters a loud shriek and drops into chair.] 

\ Enters hurredly from house Mr. Sanders, Eva, Frank.] 

Eva. {^KneeUti<r beside ij^rzXdi) Gerald, my own dear cousin, what is the 
matter with you? [Gerald hands her letter — she reads it— drops letter— falls 
upon Gerald's breast and sobs 7'iolently.] 

Sand. What can all this mean? Frank, read that letter for me? I have 
left my glasses in the house. 

Frank. {Picking up letter.) Only with your permisson Gerald (Gerald 
nods. Spotter appears at door L. music) 

Frank, (reading) Folhnuing the dictates of my own conscience, I consider 



16 THE TWO LOCKETS 

// my duty to leave this place immediately : my presence here has been the 
cause of too much disse7ision already, and iio one knows zvhat the consequences 
would be, zvere I to remain any longer. It is for your sake that I make the 
sacrefice, do not blame me if I cause you any pain, for God knozvs, I would 
not willingly have you suffer. 

A few days, and all ivill be forgotten, aud then wealth and happine s 
await you. ' Exctise the scribbling, for tears dim jny eyes, and blot the paper 
upon which I write. With a bleeding heart, I subscribe myself 

Yours in misery. 

MARTHA COATS. 

spotter. {Coming down c.) Pretty keenly arranged, but it is only a 
subterfuge, — her timely disappearance has saved her from arrest. \^They 
all start.) 

Gerald. What do you mean sir, and why do you intrude upon us at such a 
moment as this? 

Spotter. I mean sir, that Martha Coats has committed a theft, and I am 
here to accuse her of the crime. 

Gerald. Liar! take back those words, or by heaven, they will by your 
last. {Rmis at Spotter, Sand, and Frank go between. 

Spotter. Not so fast Mr. Gray, you may do something which perhaps you 
will have cause to repent. 

Gerald. Who are you sir, that makes such a grave charge against a help- 
less girl. 

Spotter, {remoz'ing disguise) I am Cage Spotter, the detective. ( 7^ hey all 
start. ) 

Frank. {Aside) D — m him, what brings him here? 

Sanders. Mr. Spotter, what evidence have you against the girl ? 

Spotter. This, {shozus locket) the missing locket, which I found concealed 
in her own room. 

Frank. {Aside.) Heavens what can his mean? The very locket on which 
I raised the money. 

Spotter. Take it Mr, Sanders, while I go in search of the fugitive {give 
locket and turns to go. ) 

Gerald. {Stepping in front of him.) Hold sir— make one more step to- 
ward that door, and I will level yon at my feet. With all your evidence, I say 
that Martha Coats is not guity, and if yon go to hunt her down,— you do 
it at the peril of your life. 

Tableau — Curtain. 



END OF ACT FIRST. 



ACT II. 

Scene. — A handsomely furnished room in the residence ofMr . Sanders; large 
D. in C. of flat, leading into garden.. Window Tvith curtains R. of door, 
the whole backed with garden flat. Sideboard with glasses, etc, R. u. E 
pianol.. 2 E. Table with books and writing materials K. c. 
Frank Travers discovered at table reading. 

Frank. {Closing book.) It is no use, I cannot content myself at anything; 
my mind is horribly disturbed, and I feel like one upon the verge of insanity. 
Never, until now, have I known hew low, mean, and despicable w man may 
become. Yes, I have waded into the very depths of depravity, from which 1 
am unable to extricate myself. The great mystery to me, is how that locket 
found its way into Martha's room. 1 could swear it was in- the box which I 
to gave Lindsey, and I cannot understand how it left his possession; perhaps 
the old wretch sold it to some one; it may be to Martha Coats, hersell; well, 
it is my game now to keep her out of the way until I can see Lindsey, and ar- 
range things with him. {rises) I hope Gerald will not be successful in his 
search for Martha, I will go and look for him, and endeavor to persuade him 
of her guilt, (exit L.) 

{Enter Mr. Sanders R. ) 

Sand. {Looking at watch) What can be keeping my daughter.? It is time 
that she was back from her walk — however, I will arrange my. papers and be 
ready for our drive as soon as Eva returns, {sits at table and arranges papers. 
Eva returns from garden rvith bouquet.) 

Eva. I suppose papa you are tired waiting for me I have taken a long 
walk this morning and am somewhat fatigued, [sits] 

Sand. You will feel all the better for that my dear; you know the doctor 
has recommended plenty of out door exercise. 

Eva. Yes, but these morning walks are getting so monotonous. I have no 
one to accompany me, ever since — oh! papa you know not how lonesome I 
am. [drops bouquet] 

Sand. Come, come, Eva; no more of this despondency, my pet; we will 
drive over to see Mr.'Harington, and have his daughter Alice come and spend 
a month or two with you. 1 am sure her company will be agreeable, and 
with some one to cheer you, you will soon forget that ungrateful girl, who has 
abused our confidence to such an extent, as to make her unworthy ot your 
remembrance. 

Eva. Oh! father this is too much; have you not promised to let bygones 
be bygones, and that you wouldnever say another harsh word in my presence, 
against Martha Coats, [weeps] 

Sand. Well, let it pass [rises] my dear; I did not intend to hurt your feel- 
ing, but something must be done to arouse you from this despondent mood 
into which >ou have fallen, [lifting her from chair] Come, cheer up my dar- 
ling, and forgive me if I have offended you. Your health and happiness is 'ny 
only anxiety, [coming down] Let the past be forgottf.n — enjoy the present — 
and the future will take care of itself. 

Eva. [Pointing to locket around her neck] Father, have you forgotten the 
past.'' 

Sand, [aside^ Hang it, she kills me with my own weapon. \^to her'\ I 
cannot say that I have been altogether forgetful; but, you know Eva, it was 
my first love, and besides, she was worthy of my affection. 

Eva. Worthy, or unworthy, Martha Coats carries with her, my hearts 
warmest affection. I have loved her as a sister, and trusted her as a 



18 THE TWO LOCKETS 

friend; and — although I may never set my eyes on her again. I will ever 
remember her as the kind, gentle and loving creature that she is. 

Sand. Perhaps you do not believe her guilty. 

Eva. I do not. She is too good, too pure, too noble, and would not stoop 
to such an act. 

Sand. Then how do you account for the locket having been found con- 
cealed in her room? That certainly, is sufficient evidence of her guilt. 

Eva. Puiely circumstantial evidence lather. Could not the locket have been 
placed there by some one e se ? 

Sand. 1 see no reason for looking upon it in that light. No one. in this 
house had any ill feeling against the girl, but, on the contary, she was loved, 
trusted and respected by all; Who then, by such an act as that, would at- 
tempt to injure her good name and reputution ? 

Eva. You kno.v not %ther, we may meet enemies where we least expect to 
find them; and I fervently believe, and openly declare that Martha Coats is 
innocent, and heaven, in its own good time, will prove that I am right. 

Sand. 1 could hope so darling, for your own sake; but the idea is a ridi- 
culous one, so let us talk no longer on the subject. I will now go in and see 
it the carriage is ready, a ride will do you good. {Exit R.) 

Eva. Oh ! Martha, Manha, why do you not come back and assert you in- 
nocence ? I know that you are not guilty; why not return then, and fling 
all their suspicions to the winds } 

{Enter Gerald and Frank L. — Eva rtrns to Gerald.) 

Eva. Oh ! my dear cousin, [ am so glad you have come, {to Frank) Good 
morning Mr. Travers. (Frank boios) Any news Gerald .'' Do say something 
to cheer me, for I assure you 1 am very, very, sad. 

Gerald. [Leading her do7vn stage] I am sorry for you Eva, but you seek 
consolation from a poor source, for I am as much afflicted as yourself. 

Eva. Have you no tidings of Martha } 

Gerald. 1 have searched every place where I thought it likely to find her, 
but have met with no success; her whereabouts is unknown to all. 

Eva. I shudder to think of it, but you know, the night on which she left 
was very dark, and she may have met with an accident. 

Gerald. Heaven forbid that any harm "would come to her; but I have no 
such feais regarding her safety, it is likely that she has left this place for other 
parts. 

Frank, [coming down] She may have gone to her brother, who, as I 
understand, is living in some part of Nevada. 

Eva. No; for she has often told me that not having heard from her 
brother in (nany years, she thinks that he is dead. 

Frank. Well, no doubt you will hear from her soon; but, for the present, 
it is better that she should remain away. 

Gerald. And why so pray } Not for her own safety surely, but, perhaps 
for the sake of those who were base enough to conceal their own guilt, by 
throwing the suspicion upon the head of a poor and defenseless girl. 

Frank, [aside] Whas does he mean .'' Can it be possible that he suspects 
nr.e.? 

Gerald. I tell you Frank, that Martha Coats is as free from guilt as what 
you are. [Frank shou's signs of relief] What if the locket 7uas found in her 
room } She never placed it there; but it was the work ot so.ne scheming 
villain, whom 1 will endeavor to ferret out, and wreak vengeance upon his 
head, for the injustice that has been done her. 

Eva. And I believe as you do. Cousin Gerald, that foul deceit is at the 
bottom of it all. 

Frank, [aside] Heaven prevent her from ever knowing the truth, {goes 
up to piano. ) 

Eva. {showing locket ) See Gerald, here is the locket which has caused all 
the trouble. Papa has placed it in my charge. 



ACT 11. 19 

Gerald. I could almost curse it, were it not for the sake of her who 
wears it. 

Eva. Have you ever seen the pictures which it contain ? 

Gerald. No. 

Eva. Then let me show them to you. {opens locket ani shoTus pictures — 
Gerald starts) What is the matter ? 

Gerald. Eva, who's picture is this } 

Eva This one is my father's picture, and that is and old sweetheart of 
'hi;; both taken many years ago. But you seem surprised, what is the cause 
of It } 

Gerald. Nothing! I supposed it was Martha's picture; that's all. 

Eva. Do you think there is any resemblance } 

Gerald. Yes, a most striking one, did you fail to notice it .? 

Eva. I have never examined ic closely, hut now that you mention it, I do 
find a resemblance. How very strange. 

(Gerald goes to table and sits on chair, thinking ) 

Frank, {coining down) Miss Eva, if you are not indisposed. I would re- 
quest that you favor us with one of your delightful songs. 

Eva. Excuse me Mr. Travers, 1 am not in the proper mood for singing 
just now. 

Frank. Perhaps then, you will permit me to accompany you in a walk 
through the garden. 

Eva. I must decline sir, as I have promised to go riding with papa, this 
morning. 

Frank. Cheated again, am I? {offei-s arui^ Let me escort you to the piano, 
you can favor us with some music, while you are waiting. 
Kate appears at door R. 

Kate. Miss Eva, the carriage is ready, \exit R. 1 E.] 

Eva. And so am I. \^bows to Frank and exits r] 

[Frank comes doivn and sits opposite Gerald] 

Frank. Hang it, Gerald, I don't think I can ever make myself agreeable 
to that pretty cousin of yours. 

Gerald. Don t be discouraged Frank. A girl easily won, is not worth 
the winning. Persever, my boy, and trust to luck in the end. 

Frank. I have been fusting to luck, in every thing that I have under- 
taken, for some time past, and, d — m me, if it hasn"t turned dead 
against me. I tell you what, Gerald; there is only one lady who seems to 
have a decided fancy for /fie. Would you like to hear her name? 

Gerald. Yes. 

Frank. Afisioxinne. 

Gerald. Ha! ha! ha! I would not wish to see her tied to you, my friend, 
so you had better get rid of her at once. 

Frank . How? 

Gerald. By avoiding places where she is likely to be found. I'll wager 
that I can name the place of your first meeting with her. 

Frank. Where? 

Gerald. At the gambling table. Am T right or wrong? 

Frank. You are right, Gerald. I have never had a days luck since I turned 
my first card. But I will change my ways, and, by honest work and industry, 
try to regain what I have lo.'.t. 

Gerald. Give me your hand; 1 am glad fo hear you talk in that manner. 
[shakes hands] This determination will be the first step towards your future 
prosperity. 

Frank. I hope so, for God knows, I am deep enough into the mire now. 
[sighs] 

Gerald. Cheer up, man; that was your only fault, and was it not your own 
money that you lost? You have never yet wronged anyone, or committed any 
act which would bring the blush of shame to your cheek. [ P>ank appears 
agitated.^ 



20 THE TWO LOCKETS. 

Frank, [asdiel His words are daggers to my heart. [/<? Aim] No, nothing, 
that I mil ht be afraid of; my only trouble, is the great indebtedness which I 
have brov gh upon myself. 

Ge. aid. How much do you owe? 

Frank. More — I'm afraid — than I will be able to pay, for some time. 

Gerald. Perhaps I can assist you; only prove to me that you intend to re- 
form, and you will find me to be your friend, [ikey bot]i rise.] 

Frank. Thanks, Gerald; I have found you one already. 

Gerald, Well, look sharp then, as there is no telling what may be in store 
for you; in the meantime, I will put in a good word for you, with that little 
cousin of mine. I must retire now, as I have some important letters to 
write. Take care of yourself until I see you again. [£xix^ r] 

Frank. \_Conii7ig dozvn] And that reminds me that T have an important 
letter to write to old Lindsey, the money lender. The time is up in which I 
promised to redeem my pledge, and unless I contrive by some means or 
other, to defer payment, he will make it very unpleasant for me. I would not 
have him call here for the world. I have pawned the jewelry under the as- 
sumed name oi Gerald Gray, whom he believes me to be, and, if he should 
come to demand payment, why the jig is up; sol had better write to him, 
and promise him to redeem the jewelry in a day or two. [sits at table and 
writes.] There now, that will give me a few days more to fix up my account 
with him. \_Folds letter and riiigs bell on the table. Enter Kate R. 1 E. ] 
Kitty, has the postman called yet? 

Kate. No, sir; I have been waiting for a letter myself. Do you expect 
one, sir? 

Frank. No; but you can give him this, when he calls. Be sure the letter 
does not leave your hands, until you give it to him. 

Kate. Yes, sir; anything else sir? 

Frank. Mr. Sanders and his daughter have gone out for a ride, I believe? 

Kate. Yes, sir; and 1 am a little uneasy about them. They have taken 
out Master Gerald's new horse, and I am told he becomes unmanageable at 
times. 

Frank. Have no fear, Kitty; Mr. Sanders is an expert driver, and can 
manage him. {rises) Should any one enquire for me, while I am gone, say 
that I will return in an hour, \_exit l] 

Kate, {coming do'cVJt) A real nice man that. I wonder why Miss Eva dis- 
likes him so? lam sure it would be a good match, and besides, they say 
that he is very rich, [looking at letter] What is this he gave me for the post 
man? A love letter? No; for a gentleman friend [reads] Barton Lindsey, 
Esq., Brokers'' Row.'''' That reminds me I have another letter in my pocket 
for Master Gerald, {takes out letter] This one is surely a love letter, because 
the address is in a lady's handwriting. Well, I will give it to him, when he 
comes down, [pitts both letters into her pocket.] 

[^cr'xhblex appears in garden through C. D.] 

Scrib. Kitty! Kitty! 

Kate. Oh! Is that you? You may come in, Jerry. 

Scrib. [Comes doivn with hat off.] Hope I don't intrude? 

Kate. Not at all, Jerry. Take a chair. 

Sbrib. Where will I take it to, my dear? 

Kate. Humbug! sit down. [¥^2Xq sits on sofa.] 

Scrib. [Looking ar-ound] Thanks, but I would sooner stand. 

Kate. Oh! don't be so foolish. Sit down, no one is going to trouble you. 

Scrib. Perhaps not, but it is always best to be on the safe side. In a stand- 
ing position I will be better prepared to run — or, I mean, to defend myself. 

Kate. There is no one at home, except Master Gerald, and he is busy in 
his own room at present. 

Scnb. No one at home? Lor! what a fine time for courting, [sits on sofa 
and puts arrn around her neck] 

Kate. Don't, Jerry; how can you be so rude? 



ACT II. 21 

Scrib. "When the cat's away, the mice can play." Give me another kiss, 
my little butter cup. [iisses her] 

Kate. You can have as many as you like, if you only take your time, and 
don't choke me so. What's the news? 

Scrib. Newsl why, bless your little heart and soul, that is jus* what I was 
going to ask you. How are things going on around here? 

Kate. Oh! quiet enounh. Master Gerald was very very angry, about that 
article which appeared in the paper, regarding the robbery. 

Scrib. Why, what was there in it that could offend the young gentleman? 

Kate. It said, that the locket was found in the room of Martha C ats, and, 
that she had fled from the house in order to avoid arrest. 

Scrib. Well every one knows that such /j the case. Mr. Spotter is my 
authority for it. 

Kate. Miss Eva and her cousin, Gerald, are firm in the belief that Martha 
Coats is innocent. 

Scrib. Yes? then why this sudden disappearance from the house, the very 
night on which the stolen locket was discovered? And, how do they account 
for the finding of the locket in her room? 

Kate. These are indeed suspicions circumstances which require an 
explanation. 

Scrib. Suspicious circumstances! Downright evidence. Why I have seen 
men haneed, on less testimony than that. 

Kate. Do yon mean to say, Jerry, that she could be hangeJ for the crime? 

Scrib. No. A few years imprisonment, at most would be the penalty; but 
Mr. Sanders, I undei stand, declines to prosecute. 

Kate. Yes; thanks to Miss Eva, the good kind darling. 

Scrib. Well, that virtually puts an end to the scandal, and cheats us out of 
a page or two, of spicy reading matter for our patrons. 

Kate. You are never satisfied, only when you are meddling in other peo- 
ples affairs. You newspaper men delight in accidents and misfortunes. 

Scrib. \_rubbing his hands) T\\2iVs\vhe:t\v& live, Kitty. I am never so 
happy as when 1 hear of a suicide, a murder, a fire, a robbery, a riot; or an 
accident of any kind, which will make ^ur readers hair stand on end; and 
send tnem to bed with pleasant visions of pistols and knives floating before 
their eyes; and lull them to rest, with the cries of some unfortunate victim 
.who has received the bullet from the murderers pistol; or the stab from the 
knife of an assassin. Do you know Kilty, that I have been sitting on a fence, 
over in the next field there, for the last hour, watching the maneuvres of a 
young boy with a shot gun in his hand, and anxiously awaiting to see the gun 
explode, and knock the urchin into the middle of the next political campaign. 
But, as luck would have it, the young fellow's daddy appeared upon the 
scene, and, with a stout raw hide, lathered the youngster's back and spoiled 
my anticipated fun. 

Kate. You must be sorely in need of an item. 

Scrib. Oh, dear no; any amount of them, {pulls out paper) fust see here. 
There's the blacksmith, down the road, who is after flinging his sledge ham- 
mer at the head of an apprentice boy, and slightly damaging that part of the 
young fellow's anatomy. And here is another victim who has had one of his 
legs cut off with a circular saw, and, consequently, will have to lay up for 
repairs, perhaps a month or longer. Then with dog fights, prize fi ;hts. 
broken limbs and bruised heads; together with a runaway horse, which I 
have just seen dashing down the road, with a vehicle behind him, in which 
were seated a lady and gentleman, will, I am sure — but great Heavens! 
Kitty, what is the matter wiih you? You're as pale as death and trembling 
from head to foot. 

Kate, {excitedly) A carriage did you say. with a lady and gentleman m it? 
Scrib. Ves; but that doesn't concern vou, does it? 

Kate. Oh! I knew the horse would runaway. Jerry, Jerry, it surely was 
Mr. Sanders and his daughter, who were m that carriage. My God! My 



22 THE TWO LOCKETS. 

God, what will I do? What Vkill I do? {juris about the stage clapping her 
hands. ] 

Scrib. {Following her) Come, come, don't go into hysterics, my dear. 

Kate. Oh! you cowardly fellow, why didn't you stop the horse? Oh! oh! 
oh? etc. {runs about) 

Scrib, Damnation! I might as well try to stop an earthquake, Kitty you 
wouldn't have me risk my precious life, would you? And maybe leave yon a 
widow — or, I mean, leave you without a sweetheart, {follozvs her about stage) 

Kate. Oh! my poor master; Mydailing Eva, what will become of you? 
You will both be killed; and, if you do. Scribbler need never show his face 
to me again. Oh! oh! etc. 

Scrib. Weat will I do? She will surely take a fit, and may be, scratch my 
eyes out. {pats her on the back) Cough it up, Kitty. Cough it up. That's a 
darling. Ohl my; oh! my; oh! my. 

Kate. Leave me, leave me; 1 will run and tell Master Gerald what ha>; 
happened. He is a dear, good, brave man, and would not have acted like 
>ou; you old coward, {runs off "S.. 2 E. 

Scrib. {Looking after her) Well I never — {sits) "A dear, good, brave 
man." It strikes me, she's in love with her yonng master — Oh! the wretch, 
she told on herself that time, without knowing it; Well I'll watch her now, 
being that my suspicions are aroused, {reenter Kitty R. 2. E. hastely; takes 
letters from pocket ) 

Kate, {aside Oh! dear I have missed the postman. What will Mr. Trav- 
ers think of me? Perhaps, Jerry will take the letter to town for me; ai any 
rate I'll ask hi n. {to him) Scrib, m> dear, will you be likely to pass the 
postoffice, during the day? 

Scrib. I am going in that direction, after 1 leave here. 

Kate. Then take this letter, and mail it for me, wont you? {gives letter 
intended for Gerald, to Scrib) That's a good fellow. Don't delay now, but 
post it immediately. {Exit Kate R. 2 E. Scribbler rises and comes foriuard.) 

Scrib. {reading address on letter) Eh! What's this? "Afr. Gerald Gray, 
strictly personal.' Ah! indeed, is that your game, my darling? Might haved 
saved yourself the trouble of writing, being that he is so near to home. 
Well I'll swear! If that don't beat cock fighting. And giving it to me, 
to mail for her. I suppose she took it for granted that I would not open it. 
Well, under ordinary circumstances, of course I would not think of such a 
thing, but when my feelings are trifled with, in such a manner as this — why 
I am liable to do almost anything; so here goes, {opens tetter and reads. ) 

''Meet me in the gaj'den, beliind the summer house, at dark this evening. 
Come alone, as I do not wish to be seen speaking with you. I have something 
to say to you, which I know you tvillbe pleased to hear. Trust me, and be- 
lieve me to be." Ox\E Who Loves You. 

So, Miss Briggs, that's your game, is it? {folds letter) Well you will find 
that Jeremiah Scribbler is not such a fool as you take him to be, and he will 
surely be on hand, to spoil your little tete-a-tete, {evit c. D ) 

{Door bell rings violently. Kate enters hurriedly, r] 

Kate. Goodness me! What's that? One would think that the house was on 
fire, \looks off \..'\ Heavens above! It is Mr. Sanders, and they are leading 
him in. Surely he must be seriously hurt. 

\_Enter Sanders l.. supported by Eva and Charles Coats; Charles has his coat 
torn, and is covered with dust.'] 

Kate. Oh! Miss Eva, what has happened? 

Eva. Don't be alarmed, Kitty, nothing serious I hope. \_ placing him in 
chair) Kitty, a glass of water please {exit Kate. She reenters immediately 
with water.] 

Chas. I hope you have recovered from the shock, sir. It is only a bad 
fright after all, and could have been a great deal worse. 

band. Aye, well you may say that, my young friend. It might have been 
a great deal worse, and would too, no doubt, only for your coolness and 



•2,i 



Give 
praise. 



bravery in stopping the infuriated animal, at the risk of your own lite 

me your hand. [/aXv. //;> /^a;^./,] Your courage, sir, is beyond all praise. 

ir.thnHr"Th ""' 1 ''"'' ^'? "^l ^^^""S- I am too agitated, to express my 
gratitude. There he stands, the noble preserver of our lives. This is mv 
daughter, sir. I know not who you are, but your noble conduct proclaims 
you to be a gentleman, and entitles you to our everlasting friendship. 

tv, 7' w '^- "^^f ^f^'""'- ^'^^'^^^ "^e ^•'■' words cannot express our 
hanks. We are indebted to you for the vulue of our lives, which you have 
this day saved, by your manly heroism. 

Chas And I am sufficiently repaid by the pleasure which it affords me of 
being the humble instrument in the hands of Providence, which saved vou 
both from an untimely death. My conduct, however, is entitled to no praL 
tor 1 have only performed my duty on this occasion; and I would scorn the 
man vvho under similar circumstances, would fail to avert a threatened dan- 
get to his fellow creature. 

Sand. Hear him, Eva; hear the noble sentiments of this brave youn^r man 
i.ook at him, my pet, is he not a perfect specimen of nobleness? anda^hand- 
some, as he is brave? [E.a ^urns aside blusJiing.-\ You do not answer me mv 
darling; I say, aint he fine young fellow? 

Eva. If the gentleman was not present, papa, I would venture an 



me. 



opinion; 



but as it is, I trust you will excuse 

Sand, Well, so I will; but I know what that opinion would be Here 

Kiity, getabrushanddnstotr the gentleman s clothes; they are all over' 

mud and dust. ' 

Chas. No, thank you; I will retire and change my dress. It certainly is 

not a very attractive costume, jnst now. 

Eva. Will you allow me, sir, to put a few stitches in the sleeve of vour 
coat, where it has been torn? ^ 

Chas. Many thanks. Miss, brt it is scarcely worth the trouble 

Eva. Oh! no trouble at aM, I assure you. Kitty, run and bring a coat for 
the gentleman to put on, until his own can be mended, {exit Kate r] 

Sand. Sit down, young man, sit down, and make yourself at home. [Chas 
siis^ Eva. bring some glasses, and a bottle of my best wine. [Eva <r^^j- to 
sideboard and brings down glasses and bottle to table.'\ I require a little stimu- 
lating after ihe severe shock which my nerves have received. I suppo^^e the 
carriage i-; a total wreck? 

Chas. The carriage is entirely broken, sir, but the horse, t think, is unin- 
jured. I left word to have him sent to the stable. 

Sand. No matter, no matter; here fill up { fills'] and let us drink to the 
health of our noble young hero. 

Chas. {with glass in hand rises] Let us first drink to the health of your 
fair daughter, sir; may she live a life of happiness, and be the joy and conso- 
lation of your dechng years, and may the man who wins her fcr a wife be 
worthy the possession of so bright a jewel, {drinks] 

Eva. {bo7ving) And may my future husband be as gallant, brave and no- 
ble, as the one who has just expressed that sentiment. 

Chas. Without which, he certainly would be unworthy of your love (sits^ 

Sand. Egad! I think you are both in love with each other. 

Eva. {blushing) Papa! (^w/.v- Kate) Ah, here's the coat." It mav not fit 
you very well, but it will do foi a while, I think. 

Kate, {to Eva) This is Mr. Travers coat. I Hjund it on the rack in the 
hall, (Charles rises) 

Eva. Very well, Kitty, hand it to the gentleman. (Chas. takes off his coat 
and gives it to Kitty, who exits R. he puts on coat which was worn bv Frank 
1 ravers in act \st. 

Chas. It fits me like a glove. I will return it, as soon as I reach my hotel 
Now, as I have other busines to attend to, I must start, (^.-,/.s- hat) but I hope 
to have the pleasure of meeting you both, soon again. 

Sand. Certainly; but in the excitement 01 the evening, we have for-^otten 



24 THE TWO LOCKETS. 

to enquire your name; I trust you will pardon our neglect. Sande'-s is my 
name, sir, Edwin Sanders, and it would please me to have you call, and see 
us often. 

Chas. It strikes me, 1 have heard that name, before. 

Sand. Very likely, as I am well-known throughout the country. If I can 
be of any service to you, my influence is at your command. 

Chas. I am a stranger in this neighborhood, and perhaps you could direct 
me in finding a relative of mine who, I belive, is living, some place, in this 
part of the country. 

Sand. What is the name. 

Chas. Martha Coats. (Sanders and ¥j\?i both start. 

1^"^- \ Martha Coats? 
Eva. ^ 

Chas. Yes, she is my only sister. I have not seen her for many years; and 
oh, what pleasure it will be to me, to see her once again, to fold her to my 
heart, and bless her. 

Eva. {turning axvay) Alas! Alas! 

Chas. Something must be wrong, else why these mysterious glances? In 
God's name, tell me if she is dead? 

Eva. No, no, not dead; but gone, no one knows where. 

Chas' You knew her, then? 

Sand. Yes; she was living here with us, for some time past, but 
unfortunately — 

Eva. {aside to her fat he j-) Don't; for heavens sake, don't, father. If you 
mention it, you will break his heart, {goes up to piano') 

Sand. She left here very suddenly, without letting us know that she was 
going, and we have not seen or heard from her since. 

Chas. How very strange. And, you have no idea where I could find her? 

Sand. No; but I am inclined to believe, that she is somewhere in the 
neighborhood. 

Chas. It satisfies me to know that she is alive. I will go immediately, in 
search of her. {takes hat) Good evening, Mr. Sar.ders, I am thankful to you 
sir, for the information. 

Sand. I hope to have the p>leasure of meeting you soon again, {shakes hand 
Chas. goes tip and meets Eva, who is standifis;- L. U. E.) 

Eva. [extending her hand~\ Mr. Coats, I hope you will soon find your 
sister, and, when you do, say that Eva Sanders sends her love, and longs to 
see her once again. 

Chas, God bless you for those words. [Chas. bows aud exits L. u. e. Eva 
comes down.l 

Eva. Oh I father what a perfect gentleman; so kind and affable, and, 
withall, so daring and courageous. 

Sand. And to think, his sister could be guilty of so base an act, to bring 
disgrace upon his noble brow . 

Eva. Oh I father spare her. spare her for your daughter's sake. \_ falls 
upon his neck'] 

Sand. I will forgive her, darling, for yarn sake and for his; but she will 
never darken my door again. 

Eva. An J why not, father? 

[Ahisic. Gerald enters R. 2 E.] 

Sand. A thiet is no companion for my daughter, and Martha Coats has 
proven herself dishonest. [Gerald staggers back, then recovers hi?nself and, 
qjiickly comes down stage] 

Gerald. Sir! — {checking himself] 

Eva. OhI Gerald, what would you do? 

Gerald. Nothing, Eva, nothing; God pity me, I must bear it all. [falls 
into sofa] 

Sand. Well sir, you seem flurried; has anything happened to annoy you? 



ACT II. 25 

Gerald. I regret, sir, that I must tamely submit to snch an insult, coming, 
as it does, from the lips of my uncle. 

Sand. An insult, what do you mean? 

Gerald. I mean, [rises] that when you couple the name of thief, with that 
of the lady whom I love and respect; you trample upon my honor, and no 
one else could do so with impunity. 

Sand. So you have not yet forgotten her? 

Gerald. No, nor will I ever forget her, while life remains. 

Sand. You have heard my warning, and you know the result. 

Gerald. I heed not what the result may be. I am prepared for <he worst, 
and care not, h iw soon you execute your threat. 

vSond. And so you force me to it? Well listen to me, Gerald Gray. You are 
my sister's son, but, from this day forth, I disown you as my nephew. Your 
conduct is beyond endurance. Cio, sir! Marry Martha Coats, if you will, but 
remember, that at my bidding, her l)ridal chamber would be a prison cell. 

Gerald, {cirazving knife'\ Damnation! this is too much. [r//wj- «/ Sanders] 

Eva. Igetiing between i/ion] Gerald! Gerald! for heaven's sake, what do 
you mean? 

Gerald, {calming down'] Fcrgive me darling, I know not what I'm doing, 
this excitement drives me mad. {thrcnvs knife up singe'] 

Sand. \_exci(edly] And you would murder me perhaps? Villain! leave my 
house this m..ment, or I will call in the police and have you dragged from 
here. 

Eva. [imploringly'] Father, father forgive him He did not mean it, in- 
deed, I kno7ii he did not. 

Sand, [going tip] Come. Eva, let us retire and leave this scoundrel to him- 
self, {turns nt door) Gerald Gray, you and I, can no longer live under the 
same roof; Go! and may my curses follow you. 

Gerald. I will go, sir, at your bidding, but I do not deserve your curses; 
and, I am sure, heaven will protect me from them. 

Evo. Gerald, my own dear cousin, where would you go? {thnnvs herself 
upon his neck) 

Gerald. I know not, Eva. Kiss me, darling, for you may never see me 
again, (^kisses her) 

Eva. Oh! Gerald you will break my heart, {sobs) 
■ Sand, {at door) Are you coming. Miss? 

Eva. (going) Yes, father. Oh! Gerald, Gerald, (exit Sanders R. Eva 
tta-ns at door throzas kiss to Gerald nnd exit R. iveeping. Gerald drops into 
chnir and leans his head on his hnnds. When ninsic stops, Kate enters R. 2 E. 

Kate, {coning do7vn) Mr, Gerald, I have a letter for you. {tnkes letter from 
pocket ) 

Gerald, {looking tip) A letter for me, Kitty? 

Kate. Yes, sir; here it is, { gives letter intended for 'Lmd^-ey) 

Gerald, {^rending address) There is some mistake, Kitty, this letter is not 
for me. {hands back letter) 

Kate, [rw/^-t-] Goodness, gracious! I have given the wrong letter to Scrib- 
bler. [/^Gerald] Master Gerald, I had a letter for you, but I don't know 
what has become of it. 

(Jerald. Who gave you the letter? 

Kale. A young lad, who said it was from a lady, dresred in black, and 
deeply veiled. 

Gerald, [stnrting np] My life u])on it, Martha Coats it was; Kitty, go in 
immediately and see if you can find that letter. 

Kate. Yes, sir. [aside] Oh! what will I do? Jerry has that letter, and he's 
gone to put it in the post office, [exit r. 2 e] 

Gerald. Yes, it must surely be from her. I knew that she would not keep 
me long in suspense. Oh! my darling, how I long to hear from you; every- 
day will seem a year tome, until we meet again, [sits] I must not leave this 
place until I get that letter 

[Enter Frank Travers c. IK from gnrden.] 



'2f; TJir TWO LOCKETS. 

Frank. Well Gerald, have the folks returned, or are you keeping house 
alone? 

Gerald. He certainly is a poor devil, who has no house to keep, and that is 
my condition at present. 

Frank. What do you mean? You speak in riddles. 

Gerald. Simply this, that my uncle has given me the door, turned me out, 
and cut me ofif with a shilling. 

Frank. The devil. What is the cause of all this? 

Gerald. My determiua ion to marry Martha Coats, or my refusal to become 
the husband of Alice Money-bags, aUas, Harrington. 

Frank. I did not think that your uncle would treat you in such a manner. 

Gerald. He has done it, nevertheless, and I regret to say, Frank, that I 
am unable to assist you in paying your debts, for I am now poorer than 
yourself. 

Frank, [aside), The devil have it; what will become of me? [to kiui]r\e\Qr 
mind, Gerald, I think I can mannge to pull through all right. Where do you 
intend to go? 

Gerald. In search of Martha, to prove to the world her innocence, and to 
make her my wife, [rises] 

Frank, [aside] And settle my hash forever. No, no, old boy, not if I can 
prevent it. [to him] I say, Gerald, since your cousin Eva will have nothing 
to do with me; and, since yoii have give the cold shoulder to Alice Harring- 
ton, what do you think of me trying my luck in that neighborhood? Her 
money would come m handy, just now 

Gerald. I don t know; you had better ask tho lady herse'f. 

Frank. Hang me, if I don't. It's a pity to let her spoil for the want of a 
husband. 

Gerald. And it's a pity to let yni spoil for the want of her pocket book. 
Go in and win old boy, I wish you success, [goes up] Frank, if Kitty brings 
a letter for me, keep it until I return, I will be back shortly. 
[ Exit Gerald l. C. Frank goes tip to table. ] 

Frank. Well, if this aint playing in hard luck, I don't know what is. [fills 
glass of wine and drinks] Just think^of it; here I was calculating on getting 
enough money from Gerald, to redeem the jewelry, which is in the hands of 
old Lindsey, the money lender, and now my expectations are all knocked 
into a cocked hat. [sits] What's to be done? The letter which I sent him, 
will keep him from calling upon me, or rather upon Gerald, for a day or two 
longer; but, in the meantime, Martha must be kept out of the way, or there 
is danger of me being found out. I wonder if that old rascal would have the 
audacity to call here, after disposing of the locket? for dispose of it, he E^rely 
did, or, otherwise, how could it have come into Martha's possession? No, no, 
I am sure he will wait until T call upon him; and if he does, he will wait 
a long lime, I am thinking; for, just as soon as I can get a sufficient 
amount of money, I will shake the dust of this town from my heels, and find 
more comfortable quarters elsewhere, [niitsic. Fra.nk rises and eomes down. 
[Lindsey appears at door leading into garden] 

Lindsey. [looking in] I am sure this is the place I saw him enter. At any 
rate, I will enquire, [comes doion] Is Mr. Gerald Gray at home? 

Frank. No, sir; he has just stepped out. [tinns and sees Lindsey.] [aside] 
Damnation! the old wretch himself, [io him] Come in, sir, come in; I was 
about to deny myself to you. I thought it was one of my uncle's tenants, 
coming to ask a favor of me; pray be seated, Mr. Lindsey. [offers chair] 

Lind. Thank you, Mr. Gray, [both sit] I have walked all the way from 
the city, and am very much fatigued. 

Frank, [aside] Curse the old devil, I hope no one will hear him calling 
me Mr. Gray [to him] I suppose you have received the letter which I sent 
you, sir. 

Lind. No, sir; I have received no leiter from you. 

Frank. Well that is ce^.a' ily very strange, as I wrote to you, and sent it 



ACT J I. .,- 



would poison him "Jn^ \Aaik. [<?.r/,/^J The rascal, I wish it 

^Lind. [/«,.V ,/„.,„ ,./„„] Thank.. M,-. Gray, , ha, is, indeed, very fine 
Jrank. The hes. in the market, sir. I'll wager, you have never drank 

haf:-lt;d';^o™.,^ rMe:?,',^';,;-.- ^^hich^. »en. .hi^'nZi'n^. i. would 
not prepared at preJnttl let yog'r ^Z " "™" '"'°™ ^"" *^' ' "''^ 

Grartha:ra™tr;i^rn«To'f"^'™'''»!''"^^ ^"^ ' ^-"^ V™' '^'■ 
morrow n.orning. '^ "'' °f '"°"ey, and ,nust have son.e before to- 

I c?nnotg[vryou"j:h^:[7hav"/.?" 7""°' ''' '"°°" "°- ^ '-™P. -^ friend. 

ie«'e;;.y, ':^^,:r;L::e:i.r!^t::i^:';^}::^^^'^y ^ -■i»po.^.-ng „r t.e 

know of no one whi will be more HlJl, , k '' l"^''"""ongst the lot, [ 

havralread^ sow." '"""""^ '° '^^''^ ^™ ^^ me to redeem, that which you 
F!ank'^l''i,a!^e'^'-^°>'°" '.'''"^."■e for, a swindler.? [ris»] 

wh^,:ts'g!'v«rt';;t?^'t:';;t"'f;si '""" ''"'°''' °''- '°^' "- "^'^'^ 
- Sk2n^l^^;^;;-^-;-2x';;^^-----"- 
«i"t JS" He f sT satll'TuAiT,', ^rvr^'^ '•'"'• >"'" A-^-^' 

th,^thelocke.,Jpo„w\id;yrriSXm '!;:>''■'"' =">"^ '^^ '-'<" 
//rLif'^''"'-^" """""^ "^"^"^' -hatmyst'eryisthis.? [...«„„,/,.,,„., 

the";' the box I'^our^s ""'''' ""' ^° '=>"• '^^"" '''--• ^'-^ money Hrst, and 

^./'^l [1/ri ^ili';:uZ^^;r^-..'L- :- -- 

L n iff^?'"'^ '^'-^''^ ^'"" '" ^"'■"' •'^"•' «•• ^ ^-'"ll ^^trike vou to my feet 
m which I have reacl about the robbery a Sued 

l^rank. [/urnssuc/cA'u/y] Come, come, let no one see u. here Go into 

the garden and I will bring you the money direc'ly '^ 

Und. Be sure you follow me, or if not, beware! GeriKI Cnv h-M.n «- - 

[..v//,^/.<v.^;v/.v.. Frank 7^../X..v./.^;././.^..;/n^«/,-^^^^^^^^^ "^' bewa.e!! 



28 THE TWO LOCKETS. 

Frank. Oh! God what am I to do? He knows it all, and will surely betray 
me, unless I comply with his demand, {sees hii/e on stagetuhich was dropped 
A)' Gerald] Eh! what's this! [picks tip knife] A knife!" Fortune favors me. 
This is the money, with which 1 will redeem my pledge, [conceals knife and 
exits into garden. Stage dark. 

[Enters Kate/h?w house, r] 

Kate. Oh! my, how dark it is, and the lights are not yet lit, in the parlor. 
I wonder where Master Gerald has gone? What a fool I was, to give the 
wrong letter to Scribbler. Here is the one which should have gone by post; 
safe and sound, in my own pocket [takes out letter] I am ashamed to return 
it to Mr, Travers, so, I think, I had better destroy it. No, I will wait, and 
consult Jerry, he knows best what should be done, [replaces letter in pocket] 
I do wish Scrib. would return and bring back Gerald's letter, the poor boy 
is so anxious to get it- [bell riiigs l] Oh! my, i;hat is Master's call. I have 
forgotten to light the taper in his room. Sexit hurriedly l] 
[Enter S:ribbler L. c. music] 

Scrib. [looking around] It's all right, Mr. Spotter. The coast is clear, and 
you can come m. 

Enter Spotter L. C. ] 

Spot. This is a serious business. Scribbler, and I would not undertake the 
job, only that my friendship for Mr. Sanders impels me. At what time did 
you say, she is lo meet him? 

Scrib. [whispering] At dark, behind the summer house, and alone. 

Spot. Are you quite sure that Calhei ine Briggs has made this appointment 
with her young master? 

Scrib. Why d — m it! I have it in her own hand writing. She was too cute, 
to sign her name to the letter, but it came from her hands, nevertheless. 

Spot. Oh! the rascal, I wonder if my friend Sanders, has any suspicion of 
the girl? 

Scrib. I don't know. But just think what a d — m fool she has made of me. 
But only let me catch her in the act — only let me catch her, I say; and I will 
have my revenge. I will publish both of them in the "Morning News." 

Spot. Hush! I hear a footstep. Quick, let us conceal ourselves, [hides 
behind curtains R.] 

[Martha appears through C. D in garden; she is dressed in black, andzvears a 
heavy veil ever her face. ] 

Martha, [looking into room] What can be keeping him? It is past the hour, 
at which I promised to meet him here. The night is dark — dark as my own 
feelings; and I tremble with fear at my own shadow; I would not wish to be 
discovered here, tor the world. Oh! why does he not come? Gerald! My 
darling!! Come to me; I am here, waiting for you, trembling and alone, 
[Spotter afid Sciib. come from behind curtain . ] 

Spot. Not alone, madame; there is some one here to keep your company. 
[Martha set earns] 

Scrib. Oh! you wretch 1 hav? found you out at last. You thought you 
would deceive me, did you? But I have blocked you at your own game. 

Martha. Gentlemen, what do you mean? You would not harm me, would 
you? 

, Spot. You cannot deceive us, with ihat disguise. We know you, Kate 
Briggs, and know the object of your visit here. 

Martha, You are mistaken, sir; I am not Kate Briggs. 

Scrib. We will soon see that — [quick music. Scribbler attempts to pull 
her veil aside. Martha screams and runs into room, follozued ^j/ Scribbler. 
Enter Gerald L. U. e. Gerald takes of '^znhhXex, and throios him up stage. 
Spotter stands up C. Picture.] 

Gerald. Back, you coward. How dnre you thus insult a defenceless wo- 
man, [to Martha] Have no fear, madam; I will protect you from these 
ruffians. 

Spotter, [comiug down] It is you who offers the insult, Gerald Gray, by 
this secret meeting with this man's affianced wife, Catherine Briggs, 



ACT II. 29 

Martha. It is false, sir! {removes veil\ I am Martha Coats ! ! [they all start] 

I'^'JJ'- I Martha Coats! 

Gerald. Martha, my own true love; have you retured to me, at last? [ap- 
proaches her — she ivaves hifn off] 

Spot, [to Scrib] Well sir, do you see what your blundering has done! We 
are a pair of fools Let us away from here at once. 

Martha. Gerald! 

Gerald. Martha! {runs to her) 

Martha. {dra7c<mg back) SiOT^lT^o not contaminate yourself, by touchinp: 
the hand of a rogue. 

Gerald. You, a rogue, Martha? No! though the heavens stand ont in judg- 
ment againt you, I -would not believe you guilty. 

Martha. Bless you, my own true love, {runs to him) 

Gerald. And a thousand blessings upon your head, my heart's dearest 
treasure, {kisses her) 

Ma'tha. Did yon receive my letter, Gerald.? 

Gerald. So it loas you who wrote to me. No, darling, Catherine mislaid 
the letter and it never reached me. 

Martha. Well, I have come to tell you, that I am wrongfully accused of a 
most serious crime. The locket, which was found in my room, belongs to 
me; it was given to me at the bed side of my dying mother, with her last 
blessing. There is one who could vouch for the truth of what I say — my 
brother — but God only knows what has become^of him; dead perhaps; and if 
he is, may his spirit, and that of my dear mother, look down upon me now; 
and guide me safely through my troubles, {-vecps) 

Gerald Do not weep, Martha. You have a friend in me, while life re- 
mains, for hereT swear, that, living, I will never part from you again. I know 
that you are innocent, so let me prove to the world, my love and respect, by 
miking you my wife Say the word, dearest, nly say the word; and we will 
face the whole world dakin^i:; her hand) hand in hand, together. 

Martha. God's will, be done. For better or for woise, Gerald, I am youis 
forever. (Gerald /<;//.?■ on his knees and kisses her hatid ) 

Enter Spotter hurr idly from garden, folloived by Scribbler. ) 

Spot, {to Scrib) Close the doors, and cut off his retreat; he must not es- 
cape us. Gerald Gray! In the name, and by the authority of this State, 1 
apprehend, and arrest you, on a charge of murder. 

Martha. ? ,, , , 

Gerald, ^^^^^er! 

Spot. Yes, sir With this knife, which bears the mitials of your name 
{sho-u's knije) You have stabbed to death, Barton Lindsey, the money lender, 
and his last words were ''Gerald Gray has killed me " (Martha screrm^ and 
falls rt'/ Gerald's /^<f/ ) 
{Enter hurridly R Sanders and Eva. Frank appears through c. D. /// garden) 

Sand. In heavens name, what is the meaning of all this.^ 

Spot. Your nephew, sir, is under arrest. 

^''''; J Arrest! for what? 

band. S , - 1 / • - 

Spot. Murder. {Eva. siooons and falls into chair. Sanders covers his face 

with his hands, ^cnh. is writing.) 

Martha, {snddenlv springing up) A^vay! all of you. I will cling to bim, 
to the last, {throws' herself into Gerald's arms ) 
Tableau — Curtain. 



ACT III. 

Scene. — The same as act first. Steps, garden, (^c. [Sanders aiid Spotter, 
discovered at table. ] 

Sand. I have heard that the next quarterly session of the district couit will 
commence on Monday. Do you think it advisable to allow the case to pro- 
ceed, or have it continued until the following session? 

Spot. There may be some exenua'dng circumstances connected with the 
case, which would give the court an opportunity of admitting the prisoner to 
bail, and, in that event, it is better to proceed with the case at once. 

Sand. You have made his quarters comfortable as possible, I hope, Mr, 
Spotter? 

Spot. I have received the consent of the District Attorney, to keep the 
prisoner under my own care, and, instead of confining him in the county 
jail, I have him safely under lock and key, at my own house; and, I assuie 
you sir, that I have done all in my power, to render his unfortunate position 
as comfortable as circumstances will permit. 

Sand. For which I am indeed thankful'to you. But tell Mr. Spotter, do 
you think there is any hope for the unfortunate boy? 

Spot. Very little, I am afraid; the evidence is too strong against him; the 
knife, which was found beside the body of the murdered man, has heen iden- 
tified as your nephew's propeny, and the dying man, himself, accused him 
of the crime. 

Sand. What could have led him to commit such a crime as that? Has he 
any defense to make? 

Spot. He does not admit his guilt; but on the contrary, firmly declares 
that he is innocent. 

Sand. Do you know anything concerning the character of the murdered 



man.-' 



Spot. Old Lindsey? Yes I knew him well; he was a money lender, and re- 
puted to be very rich. His character was not of the very best, however; the 
old rascal would sell his soul for gold, provided, he could cheat the devil in 
the bargain. 

Sand. Does he leave a family behind hnn? 

Spot. No. He has not a relative living. The state has taken charge of his 
effects, and his books will be produced in court, in order to ascertain if any 
business transactions have taken place between your nephew and himself. 

Sand. I do not think it likely that Gerald has had any business with him, 
in money matters; because my nephew, always had sufficient funds of his own. 

Spot. Was your nephew extravagant in his habits? 

Sand. No sir, on the contrary, he was rather saving and economical in his 
ways. 

Spot. I cannot imagine what could be the cause of the difficulty between 
them. As you are aware, on that night, and just after the murder was com- 
mitted — there was a meeting between jou nephew and Martha Coats; do you 
think that she could be, in any way implicated. 

Sand. I know not. The girl's mind is wandering, ever since the night 
of Gerald's arrest; and she is not responsible for what she says. 

Spot. The poor girl. Where is she now? 

Sand. She is in the house. My daughter persuaded me to let her remain, 
and I had to consent on account of her unfortunate condition. I expect her 
brother to be here shortly and take charge of her. 

Spot. So she has lost her reason? 

Sand. She has, and I am afraid it will never return again (Martha screams 
without.) Hush ! here she is, and in one of her spells. (Spot and Sand 
rise. Q7iick music, ^/z^"^;- Martha, htm-idly, from house ^, followed by Y.vz.. 
She 7valks quickly across the stage and stops suddenly in C.) 

Eva {coaxingly). Martha, my own dear Martha, will you not come with 



ACT III. 31 

me? CSlaitha 7C'(7Z'cs /ler o^'.) Don't you know me, darling.'' Don't you 
know your Eva? You would not have me leave you? 

Martha. Leave me? Yes, yes, he did leave me, alone! akne!! alonell! 

Eva. Who, darling, who left you? 

Martha. Gerald Gray! They have taken him from me. They have mur- 
dered him; and I saw the knife. 

Spot. Poor girl, it has robbed her of her senses. 

IVIartha. {turns suddenly.) Robbed! Who says I robbed any cue? C/>^/«/-r 
to Sanders.) It was you who stole from me my mother's locket. 

Spot. What does she mean? 

Sand. I suppose she has reference to the locket which was found in her 
room . 

Eva. Come, Martha dear, come with me now, won't you? 

Martha. Yes, yes, I'll go with you, Eva. Perhaps we will find him, eh, 
darling? and if we do I shall never let him go from me again. Come, don't 
you hear, my mother calls me. 

Spot. Is her mother living? 

Sand. Her mother is dead, but she is forever talking about her. 

Eva. [crossing over R, 7oith aroufid Martha's loaist.'] Don't you know, my 
dear, that your poor mother is in heaven. 

Martha. \_s tops suddenly ■~\ In heaven— my mother in heaven? then she 
will look down upon me and bless me, and so will Gerald Gray; he is in 
heaven, too ; they have killed him with his own knife. 

Eva. \7veeping.] Gracious heavens, what will become of her ? Don't you 
think, papa, if she could see Gerald that the sight of him would bring back 
her memory? 

Sand. I am afraid not; but with Mr. Spotter's consent we might try the 
experiment. 

Spot. I certainly will not refuse to bring him here, if you think his pres- 
ence will do the unfortunate creature any good. 

Sand. Is Gerald aware of her condition? 

S} ot. No, and I would advise that he be kept in ignorance as long as 
possible, because a knowledge of it wo.dd affect him very seriously. 

Eva. No, no, let him know it at once ; he is strong and can bear the 
shock, and his presence here may restore her reason. 

Spot. As you will, miss; I shall have him brought here directly [A' 
Martha.] Miss Coats, I will bring Gerald Gray back to you. 
[^^axihii starts suddenly, looks at Spotter, ihen screams and eoiers her faee 

with her hands.'] 

Martha. Oh! 'tis he, 'tis he! My God, take him away from me; he will 
kill me as he has killed Gerald Gray. Take him away, I say; take him 
away. Murderer! you have killed the idol of my heart. Oh! mother! 
mother! protect me from this man. \_ falls on Bench L.] 

Sand. You see, Mr. Spotter, she remembers 'you in connection with 
Gerald's arrest. 

Spot. She does; poor girl, her reason is completely overturned. 

Eva. Calm yourself, my dear Martha; no one will harm you here. 

Martha. No, no! Gerald will not let them hurt me; I am sure he will 
not. Oh! I am not Catherine Briggs, 

Sand. What does she mean by that ? 

Spot. I will explain. On the night of the murder, and just before Gerald's 
arrest, Mr. Scribbler and I, found her in the garden wailing to mec t your 
nephew. Scribbler had a note in his possession, which was evidently writ- 
ten by Miss Coats and intended for G raid ; but Scril)bler's jealousy led him 
to believe that the note was written by his sweetheart, Kilty Briggs, and 
that a secret meeting was to take place between her and ycur nephew. He 
requested me to be present and witness the occurrence, and, as a friend of 
yours, I consented to do so. When the woman made her aj:)pearance Scrib- 
bler, thinking that it was Miss Briggs, attempted to remove her veil, but 
Gerald, ajipearing at th;it moment, protected her from any further assault. 



32 THE TWO LOCKETS. 

We then found out our mistake and retired. On our way home we discov- 
ered the body of the murdered man. 

Sand. So you see, she remembers you in that connection also. 

Spot. Yes, and as my presence here seems to annoy her, I will retire for 
the present (takes hat^. I will bring the prisoner here, under my own care, 
some time during the day. 

Sand. Do. But I will not see him, Mr. Spotter; I could not bear it; the 
sight cf him in chains would break my heart. {Covers his face with his 
hands and exits R. 

Spot. Poor man; I do indeed pity him. Good morning, Miss Sanders. I 
hope the lovely patient will soon recover under your tender care. [Eva 
bows. Exit Spotter L.] 

Eva. Now Martha, cheer up, my dear; no one is near you but your loving 
Eva. 

Martha. \_Looking around.'] Where is he? Where is Gerald Gray? Oh ! 
take me to him, take me to my own dear Gerald. 

Eva. Come, Martha; Gerald will soon be here. 

Martha. Here! here, did you say? No, he will not comeback to me. 
They will murder him! they will murder him. 

Eva. [^vcc'ping.'] God help us, Martha. I am afraid you predict the 
truth. 

Martha. We will pluck some flowers for his grave; will we not, dear? 
Gerald loved flowers you know. \^takinar jJoioer from vase.] Here is a sym- 
bol of dead love; come, let us plant it on his grave. \^goes iip-] 

Eva. \_going itp. ] God pity her! God pity her! 

Mariha. \on steps.] Ha! hal ha! ha' They have killed him, but they 
eannoi kill my love. \_Piits hand to heart and exits into house, folioived by 
Eva.] 

[Mnsic. £nter Frank sloioly through CD.] 

Frank. This place is as quiet as the tomb, and not a sound to break the 
stillness of the morn. [6"//j-. ] Ah, me. What has become of all the 
merry laughter that used to greet my ears in former days? and where are the 
pleasant voices that would welcome me on my return, after a few hours 
rambling? Hushed, as if the seal of death was placed upon the lips of every 
one, and a pleasant word were sacrilegious to the sorrowful surroundings of 
the place. My God ! what have I dor e? Murder! a double murder have I 
committed; for just as sure as I am sitting here Gerald Gray will hang for 
my offense. And what then? A disconsolate uncle — a broken-hearted cousin 
— and an insane lover left to mourn his loss. Heaven pardon me, for my 
crime is great. I would save Gerald Gray if I could, but nc t at the sacrifice 
of my own life; he is better prepared to meet his maker than what I am; so 
let it go; I will live, and repent my crime, and Gerald, I hope, will meet 
his reward in heaven, {rises. \^ I must leave this place at once, for painful 
lecoUections of the past is all it has to give me now, and, perhaps, in some 
tar distant country I will forget my wicked act, and live a pure and better 
life- [Folds arms and drops head on breast. Enter Ka.te from house R. ] 

Kate. Why, Mr. Travers. you went out walking this morning, without 
taking your breakfast. Will I have it prepared for you now? 

Frank. Thanks, Kitty, but I have no desire ot eating anything just 
now. 

Kate. But, lor me, you must certainly take something to eat. How do 
you expect to live without eating? I do believe you have not taken one 
solid meal since the night that poor Master Gerald committed that awful 
murder. [Frank starts.] But I don't believe a word of it; you mark what I 
say, Mr. Travers; Gerald Gray never did commit that murder, and you 
know it. 

Frank, {turns suddenly .] What do you mean? How am I to know 
whether Gerald Gray committed that murder or not. 

Kate. Frank Travers, listen to me; the name of the murdered man was 
Barton Lindsay, was it not? 



ACT III. •^•"^ 

Frank. Vcs. What of it? 

Kate. You gave me a letter addressed to Barton Lindsey, on the morning 
previous to the murder. 

Frank. [sia)ting.'\ Meddling fool. What has become of that letter.^ 

Kate. It is here in my pocket. 

Frank, [asich-.] Damnation! [to her.] Give me that letter, give it to 
me immediately. . . 

Kate. If it is of no importance, Mr. Travers; why not let it remoin in my 
possession? 

Frank. But it is important; it is evidence against Gerald Gray. Give me 
the letter and I will read it t<ir you. 

Kate. If it is evidence against him take it and destroy it, Mr. Travers. 
[gives letler.'\ 

Frank, [opening letter, throzvs ettvelope on ground.'] listen, [reads. \ 
<■- Mr. V^indsay: I am sorry to inform you that I a?n unable to keep my 
promi e of paying you the amount whieh I owe you. Please do not call for it 
until I can see you personally. Your presence here would create trouble -d'hich 
I am anx ous to avoid. Yours, in haste, Gerald Gray.' 

\ Hands Kate the tetter.] Here, read it for yourself, and see what your 
smartness would have done. . , . . 

Kate, [looking at letter.] Well, I never,— His name is signed to it, just 
as sure as faith .' Shall I destroy it, Mr. Travers.? 

Frank. Yes. [she does so.] And now, as you and I are both satished 
of Gerald's guilt, yoa had better keep your mind to yourself; and, as for me, 
I will leave this place as soon as possible, to avoid being called as a wit- 
ness against him. Although the evidence is strong enough already, it wou d 
be prudent for you never to mention a word about that letter, as it would 
only be throwing fresh coals upon the fire. Do you understand? 
Kate. Yes, sir; I will be as dumb as a door-post. 
Frank. Very well; now I will leave you and prepare for my journey. 

\ Exits into house.] ,,,. , ,, ^ ,i u 

Kate [cominp; d.wn.] Well, who could believe that Master Gerald would 
be guilty of such a crime? No one. Bui that letter is proof enough for 
me tha- //.w//V/ commit the murder. Oh! hosv fortunate it was that I did 
not give the letter to Scribbler, as I intended to do. He would have given 
.it to the police, aud thus produce another link in the chain of evidence 
a^rainst my poor young master. [Re-enter Frank hurriedly.] 
*'Frank. Kitty, 'do you know what has become of my cjat, which was 

hanging in the hall? i j i i 

Kate? Miss Eva loaned it to the young gentleman who saved her own and 

her father's life, the day the accident occurred to them. 

Frank. What did the young man want with my coat, pray? 

Kate. To wear it until bis own, which was torn in the struggle, could be 

mended ? , • • 5 

Frank. And has he not returned it since. 

Fr^'ank. [a!ide.] The devil have it. [to her.] Who is the yonng man; do 
you know? 

Frtnk.^ (aiillc.) Fate seems to be against me. There is evidence' of my 
guilt in the pocket of that coat, and if he discovers it I am lost. Uo her.) 
Kitty I must have that coat, do you hear? If the gentleman should call 
befor^ I return, take it from him and place it in my trunk. / ^m going 
down to find out the exact time at which the stage will leave here for the 
city, and 1 will return shortly. {Exit\..) ^:j k«;„„ 

Kate. Poor fellow, he is in a hurry to get away, in order to avoid being 
called as a witness against his friend, Gerald I am afraid that he is giving 
himself unnecessary trouble, lor there is evidence enough to hang the young 
man ten times over. {Enter So ibbler, C. n. ) 



34 THE TWO LOCKETS 

Sciib. Good morning, Kitiy, my dear. I hope the gloom and sorrow of 
this place have not dispelled the sunshine from your heart. 

Kate. Oh! It is you, Mr. Scribbler. I suppose you have come to offer an 
apology for your ungentlemanly conduct, sir. 

Scrib. Ungenlleminly conduct! What, in the name of thunder, do you 
mean. Miss Briggs? ,,„•,,, 

Kate. Opening other people's letters, Mr. Scribbler; not only an ungen- 
tlemanly act, but a criminal offence into the bargain. 

Scrib. {aside.) Jimminy! Someone has let the cat out of the bag. {to 
her.) Kitty don't be too hard on a poor devil. Nothing short of my un- 
dying love for you could have tempted me to do such a thing. " Jealousy, 
that green-eyed monster," has made a fool of me, but some one has said that 
'• there is no love without jealousy," and he was right, Kitty; he was right. 

Kate. Have I ever given you any cause to suspect me, Mr. Scribbler } 

Scribbler. Oh! hang it, don't call me Mr. Scribbler. The name is not 
familiar enough, and, besides, I have given up all those assumed airs 
since I quit the newspapaper business. 

Kate. Quit the newspaper business ! Have you changed your occupation, 

Terry? 

Scrib. Oh, yes, I am now private secretary to the Hon. Charles Coats, a 
millionaire from Nevada, who is here on some important business. 

Kate, {in surprise.) Charles Coats, did yov say? And from Nevada ? 
Terry, I'll wager a button he is Martha Coats' brother. 

Scrib. That he is, sure enough, and I am here in search of his sister. 
Do you know ^hat has become of her ? 

Kate. Heaven bless me! What gocd news for the poor creature, if she 
was only in a fit condition to receive it. 

Scrib.' You speak mysteiiously. Where can I find Martha? 

Kate. She is here, Jerry, but, unfortunately, she has lost her reason. 

Scrib. Lost her reason ! Good gracious, can that be true ? 

Kate. True as I am talking to you. Ever since the night of Gerald Gray's 
arrest, her mind is wandering, and she knows no one but her own true 
friend, Eva Sanders 

Scrib. Heavens! What will her brother say to that? 

Kate. You had better inform him at once. 

Scrib. Yes, bring me some writting paper, and I wil leave a note for Mr. 
Sanders, {Sees envelope which was thrcnvn by Frank.) Stop; here is a 
piece upon the ground and it will do. {picks it tip and reads address. ) What 
is this I see ? "Barton Lindsay, Esq., Brokers' Row." Why, Kitty, 
this is the late address of the murdered man. 

Kate. Give it to me, Jerry; for God's sake, give it to me. 

Scrib. Not until I find out something more about it. You seem to be 
excited, Kitty. Who wrote this address? 

Kate. In heaven's name, Jerry, give me that envelope; and ask no more 
questions about it. 

Scrib. You know who wrote it, then. Was it Gerald Gray? 

Kate. Will yon promise to keep the secret, if I tell you? 

Scrib. Yes, if you can give me any reason for doing so. 

Kate. My only reason is, that it would criminate Gerald Gray, and, God 
knows, there is enough evidence against him already. 

Sbrib. So it was he who wrote the addi ess? 

Kate, It was. 

Scrib. How do you know that? 

Kate. Mr. Travers told me so. 

Scrib. Indeed; where is the letter which this envelope contained ? 

Kate. I have destroyed it. 

Scrib. Do you know the contents of that letter? 

Kate. A warning to Mr. Lindsay rot to call here for a sum of money 
which Gerald owed him. 



ACT III. 35 

Scrib. Are you sure of that? 

Kate. I read the letter, and saw the signature attached. 

Scrib. How did that letter come into your possession? 

Kate. Mr. Travers gave it to me to mail for him. It was the one whicli 
I should have given to yon inst&ad of that one addressed to Gerald Gray. 

Scrib. If the letter was written by Gerald Gray, how did it come into 
possession of Mr. Travers? 

Kate. I don't know, I am sure; I suppose Gerald gave it to him to post. 

Scnb. What right have you to suppose anything? What did Mr. Travers 
sayvvhen he gave you the le ter to mail? 

Kate. He requested me not to let it out of my possession until I gave it 
into the hands of the postman. 

Scr b. Much obliged, Kitcy. That is all I desire to know at present. 
{places envelope in pocket) It is time I was starting now. So I'll wish you 
a very good morning, {goss up) 

Kate. { following hwi) Oh! Jerry. Terry; give me that envelope. Surely 
you would not u'^e it against poor Master Gerald. 

Scrib. {stops at door) No, Kity; I promise you that it will not be used in 
evidence against Q^xzXA Gray ( exit c. D.) 

{Martha is heard singing off Vi ) 

[I^Note Any plaintiff air c in be sung oii this occasion. 1 

{Kate stay.ds up stage until the end of first verse, and then co/ues do7c>n C) 

Kate Poor girl, her voice is as sweet as a nightingales; but her heart is 
dead! dead!! dead!!! {goes L c ) 
( hftter Eva andMa.aha. R. Martha is siitging and Eva has her arm around 

her loaist. Martha rrt'rr/V.r a rose in her hand, from tohich she plueks the 

leave , and then throws them, one by one, a7oay. They come do7vn C, where 

M-^x^C^-^ finishes the second verse of the song. Eva is loeeping Kale on 

steps; at end of verse s^e shakes head and exits R ) 

Martha, {throwing rose from her) Away! I hale you now. Your passing 
sweetness has no charms to soothe my aching heart. You would lure me 
now to love you, and, finding that I loved, would wither soon and die. 'Tis 
false to say -'a thing of beauty is a joy forever," fo-- I have always found that 
what I cherish most, will socnest fade away and vanish like a dream. 

Eva Oh! Martha, Martha, your words pierce my heart. Why don't you 
cheer up, darling. All will yet be well. 

Martha. All will be well. Yes, they will bring him back to me, and I 
•shall never part with him again. Tell me, Eva, where is Gerald Gray ? 
Where is he, \ say. Bring him back to me. Do not rob me of my love. 
My heart aches for him, and it soon must break. Oh! why does he not 
come back to me? 

Eva. He will come back to you, Martha You will see him soon again. 

Martha. No, no. They have killed him Murdered him! because he 
loved me. {Falls oji chair Music.) 

( Enter Cage Spotter C D.) 

Spot, (/t; Eva} Miss Sanders, prepare her for the meeting; the prisoner 
is now coming, {goes up) 

Eva. Heaven be praised. Oh! Gerald, Gerald. 

Martha, {starts) Eh! Who calls Gerald? 

Eva, It was, I, darling. See, he comes, {music) 
\^Enter Gerald and iivo guards C. D Gerald is hand-cuffed. Martha sits 
facing h'm. Eva runs to him and puts arms around his neck J 

Eva. Oh! Gerald, my own dear cousin; how gla 1 I am to see you. 

Gerald. Bless you, my darling, bless you. VVhere is she, I'.va? Where 
is Martha? 

Eva. [pointing] Look, there she sits, and does not recognize you. Oh! 
Gerald, her reason is completely gone 

Gerald. Great heavens! What a fate for her and me. Igocs towards hcr'\ 
Alas! alas! WHiat is there now in those once glorious eyes but vacancy! 



3G THE TWO LOCKETS. 

Oh! that I had never lived to see this awful day, Martha, my treasure, my 
delight! Oh! speak to me, recognize me, your own true love, Martha. 
Martha, wont you speak to me? 

Martha, [unmoved. What would you ask me do? Love you? No, no. 
If they knew that I loved they wonld murder you as they have murdered 
Gerald Gray. 

Gerald My God ! my God ! What will become of her? Look at me, 
Martha Don't you know me, love? Only say that you know who I am. 

Martha. Know you? Yes, yes, I know you; you are Eva's uncle; you 
are Mr. Sanders. Bat T did not steal the locket, God knows I did not 
Go ask my mother and she will tell you all. 

Gerald. Oh, heavens! this is too much for man to bear, {^falls on Eva's 
neck. ] 

Eva. Look up, Gerald; be a man, my dear cousin. Your cross is indeed 
a heavy one, but God will give yon strength to carry it. 

Eerald, Eva, I could bear it all but for this last blow, that breaks my 
sinking heart Oh! God.' look down and pity me. 

Martha. God will pity you. He will pity all of us. Do not weep. Gerald 
Gray loved you too, perhaps, but he loved me belter. He said I was the 
idol of his heart, and I believed him; but because he loved me they mur- 
dered him. They killed him with his own knife. 

Gerald Martha ! they have not killed me. Martha. See, darling, I am 
sfnding here before you. Speak to me, speak to your own Gerald, who 
loves you now more than ever. 

Martha, {excitedly ] Do not love me! Do not love me, I say, or whisper; 
\_rises.\ If you love me do not let them hear you say so, or they will murder 
you; because I am a thief, and unworthy of your honest love. [ Falls back 
into chair.] 

Gerald. It is no use; she will not n.cognize me. Eva; how long has she 
been in this condition? 

Eva. Ever sin:e the night of your at rest Do you know that her brother 
is in town? 

Gerald. Her brother? No. When did he arrive? 

Eva A few days ago. I saw him once, but at that time I could give him 
no information regarding her; now that she is here, I wish he would 
come back. 

['$>^oi\.ev, who has beeji up stage talking to guards during scene, nozu io?nes 

down.'] 

Spot Pardon me, Miss Sanders, but may I enquire the name of her 
brother? 

Eva. Charles Coats. 

Spot Well, I can inform you that the gentleman is stopping at the Wind- 
sor House; he is very rich, or reputed to be so at least; and, if you so de- 
sire, I will inform him of his sister's whereabouts. 

Eva, Oh! sir; I would be ever so much obliged. 

Gerald, Well, Mr, Spotter, I am ready to return to my quarters, and then 
you can see the voung man at once. Good by, Eva; God bless you, my 
own cousin. Give my love to uncle, and say that I forgive him all. A con- 
sciousness of my own innocence will strengthen me to bear with patience 
the trials which I now suffer, and, as there is a just God above us all. He, 
in His own good time, will, I trust, make all things clear. 
^ Eva. I am glad to hear you talk so. Good by, Gerald, and remember, 
"when the clouds are thickest, the sun still shines behind them." {they 
embrace] 

Gerald. But what will become of her? What will become of her, Eva? 
Alas' I fear she is beyond recovery, 

Eva. Time works wonders, Gerald, and she may yet regain her senses. 

Gerald. Oh! that she would. Gladly would I yield up my life to save 
her from a fate worse, a thousand times worse, than death. [ To Martha] 
Good by, Martha; good by, thnu shattered idol of my heart. May heaven 



ACT HI. '^7 

restore your reason and let you live to see the day that you will welcome 
back a faithful lover to your tender heart [/cisscs her\ 

Martha, \starts\ Bring him that kiss from me, and say to him that I am 
true and constant still. They will murder me because I love him— let them. 
I feai not death; for what is life to me since they have robbed me of its 
every charm? Go, and say to Gerald Gray that 1 will meet him soon, in 
heaven, perhaps, where parted lovers meet to enjoy enternal bliss. 

Gerald. Oh! God; how my heart Heeds for her. If she would only 
recognize me for a moment. Martha! Martha! I am Gerald Gray. 

Martha, {starting up] It is false. You are not Gerald Gray. They have 
killed him, and it was his own knife; God! it was his own knife, [coz'ers 
face and falls back into chair] 

Gerald. It is useless; she will not recognize me. [to Spot] Come, let us 
leave this place at once, [going up, stops at door] Farewell, Eva; farewell, 
my darling. Take care of her for my sike. If you love your cousin, be 
kind tJ Martha, and nurse her, fjr the love you bear him. ( Exit Gerald, 
Spot ^nd guards, C. D.] 

[Eva/a//-f into a chair and weeps] 
Martha, {risimr) They have gone, but they will not biing him back to 
me. But I will find him ! yes, I must find him ! Where is Gerald Gray.? 
Where is Gerald Gray, I say? 

(7'uns tozoards steps, R ) 
Eva. ( follozvino- her) Martha! Martha! Where would you go? 
Martha, {on steps) Come, bring me to Gerald; I will see him! 1 will see 
him! Do yon hear? Come! come! 1 must find him out. 

{Exit excitedly info house, folloived by Eva.) 
{^nter Frank I-. Comes down, looking at watch. ) 
Frank I have but a few minutes time to catch the stage. I wonder if 
that blundering maid has got that coat of miner If not, I must make the 
best of a bad job, and be off without i*; I cannot afford to remain any longer 
arourd this place; "murder will cut," they say; and I am afraid that, even 
now suspicicns are aroused against me; so, Frank, my boy, you had better 
take time by the forelock, or the law will be apt to take you by the throat. 
{exits into house) ^ ,,..,, i 

{V.nter hurriedly through C. D. Spotter a;/rf Scribbler.) 
Scrib. Oh! Mr. Spotter; I am almost out of breath; 1 have been looking 
all over for you ; but I did not expect tD find you at such a convenient dis- 
tance from the house. .,.,,, .„ , u . i i 
Spot Give me the envelope, Mr Scribble;; we will hear what the rascal 
has to say for himself, {tahes envelope) Now, I hope he has not yet made his 
escape. You tell me that your employer,^ Mr. Coats, will be here presently, 
and furnish convincing proof of this man's guilt! , , , , 

Scrib Yes. sir; I expect him here at any moment; but I do not know 
what the nature of his evidence will be. In the meantime, what do you pro- 
pose to do with Gerald Gray? , . , ., n i i 
Spot. The officers will keep him in their charge until we can thoroughly 

sift the matter. . , , j 5 

Scrib Does he deny having written the address? 

Soot He vows that no correspondence has ever taken place between him 
self and Mr Lindsay, and furthermore, that he had never seen the man, or 
heard of him, before that night, {loohiug off ^.) Some one is coming; let 
us stand back and see who it is. (they go up the stage) 

{Enter Sanders rt«^/ Frank, -who carries valise) 

FranV I regret that I am compelled to la^e my departure from your 
hospitable roof Your . indness to me, during my short sojourn, I will never 
forget; but it ^giieves me to think that your househ Id should be dark- 
ened by the clouds of sorrow which now overhang it , , , 

Sand I do not think that I will ever survive the shock; my poor heart has 
beentoi-n asunder by this dreadful occurrence. Take a warning, my young 



38 ti;e two lockets 

friend, from the example which you have before you; never let your temper 
get beyond control, or it may lead you to commit an act which you would 
have cause tc repent. 

(Spotter and Scribbler come dozvn) 
Spot. Mr. Sanders, I hope you will pardon our intrusion; but we have 
called on bu<?iness of the utmost importance {looks at Frank) 

Frank {aside) Spotter, the detective; I wonder what he is after now.? 
Sand No intrusion whatever, Mr Spotter; make yourself at home. 
Spot. {7ui!/i eyes 07i'Fi-iin'^) This is Mr. Franlslin Travers, I presume? 
Sand. Yes, sir; let me introduce you. Frank, this is Mr. Spotter, our 
famous detective. 

Frank. I know the gentleman by reputation {b 7vs) Glad to meet you, 
sir 

Scrib. {aside) He may have cause to feel otherwise before long. 
Spot, {to Fran^ ] I see that you are ready for a jonrney, sir. 
Sand. 1 regret that he is about to leave us. Hii business calls him to 
Australia. 

Sciib. {aside) He may have to stop at Hell's Gate on his viay. 
Frank. Yes, and to be in t.me for the stage, which leaves here in a few 
minutes, I must start at once. 

Spot. One mcment, sir. I am sorry to detain you, but we are seeking 
information, and perhaps you will be able to help us out. 
Fradk, Well, what is it you would like to know? 

Spot. {sho7ving etivelope) Do you lecognize that writing, Mr. Travers? 
(Frank starts) 

Frank. 1 cannct say that I do. 

Scrib. {aside) That he cannot. It would be a grave mistake. 
Spot. Did you know the person to whom it is addressed? 
Frank. No, bnt I have heard of him before. 

Spot. No doubt you have. Mr. Sanders, here is an envelope addressed 
to Barton Lindsey, the man whom your nephew is supposed to have mur- 
dered. Do you know the handwriting? {sho7vs envelope to Sanders) 
Sand. No, sir, I assure you I do not. 
Spot, Is it your nephew's writing? 
Sand It is not. 

Spot. Whose writing is t' at, Mr. Travers? 
Frank. I have told you before, sir, I do not V. now. 
Spot. Have you ever seen this envelope before to da} ? 
Frank. I have not. 

Scrib. You have, sir; and furthermore, you gave that envelope to Cath- 
erine Briggs, on the morning|before the murder, with a warning not to let it 
out of her possession until she gave it into the hands of the postman. 
Frank. Did the girl tell you that? 
Scait . She did. sir. 

Frank. Well, since you force me to it, I know who it was that wrote the 
letter, but 1 refuse to divulge the secret, {drops valise and sits) 

Spot. Perhaps the secret is known to others besides yourself, Mr. Trav- 
ers. (i?«/^'r Chas. Coats c. d.) 

Frank. II so, they are at liberty to malsc the most of it. I will not crim- 
inate my friend. 

Chas. {coming dozan] No. but I v/ill rescue him! You are Franklin Trav- 
ers, I believe? 

Frank, [starting] I am. 

Chas. Then, sir, I accuse you of having stolen from this house a box con- 
taining jewelry, which you pledged with Barton Lindsey, under the assumed 
name of Gerald Gray! 

Sand, [surprised] My God! what does this mean? 

Frank. It is false, and I defy you to produce the proof. 

Chas. [showing book'] The proof is here, sir, in your own handwriting. 



ACT III. 39 

Mr. Spotie,-, arrest that man. {hands booh to Spot] Vou will find the. evi- 
dence ot his guilt ill this memorandum book, which contains a full account 
of his transactions with Mr. Lindsey, and from which it is safe to judge that 
he is a murderer as well as a thief. 

Frank. My God ! what I feared has happened. I am lost! lost! lost! 
[falls into c/iair] Gentlemen, listen to me ; I will deny my guilt no longer. 
It was I who stole the locket. It was I who murdered Barton Lindsey. 
May God forgive me for the crime, [divpi head on breast.^ 

-and Thank heaven! My nephew, then, is innocent. 

Franv. He is, he is; come, gentiemen, do with me as you will. I am 
ready to take the place of Gerald Gray. 

Spot. The sooner the better; so let us away at once. 

[Exunt Spot , Fran - and Scrib. Spotter carries on i FranV 's valiss ] 

Ghas. Now, Mr. Sanders, there is another matter which demands imme- 
diate atten ion. Mr. Scribbler informs me that my sister has returned to 
your house 

Sand. She is here, sir but unfortunate y — 

Chas I have heard of her condition, and have no fears of its ultimate re- 
sult. Even as a child, I remember that any great excitement or sorrow would 
act upon her in this manner, and it only requires another shock, greater, if 
possible than the first, to restore her to her normil condition 

Sand. Can you suggest any means, by which we could bring about .such a 
happy result.^ 

Cha> lean. Have her brought into the garden immediately. I will 'clire 
for a while, you can leave the rest to me, and I will accomplish the result. 

Sand. Well, go at once, for I hear her coming, [exif Chas. c. D/ slo7u mu- 
sic; enters Martha and Eva R ) 

Sand. Welcome! My children, welcome! Eva, how fares your gentle 
patient.? 

Eva. Much better, I think, father; but her mind is still wandering 

Sand. It will all be over, soon, I hope. Eva, do not become frightened at 
anything that you may see or hear; Martha's brother has just left me; he is 
gone to arrange a surprise which, he thinixs, will restore her reason. 

Eva. Oh! father what a blessing it would be, it he could only succeed. 

Sand. Well no doubt, he will; and then, my darling, there is another sur- 
prise for you, which you will hear of later, (a discharge of musketry behind 
scene. They all start ) 

Martha, \clinging toY.v?L\ My God! What is that.? 
(^Music. Enter Ch.a.s. Coats, JiurriJly c. D He comes dow7i stage, and speaks 
in. Martha's ear. ) 

Chas. Gerald Gray has paid the penalty of his crime. His bleeding body, 
lies upon the publio road. 

Martha, {starting) Dead! 

Chas. Shot through the heart! (Martha set earns, staggers and falls into 
her brother's aims. He leads her over to bench. Quick nnsic durijig scene. 
Enter C. D. Gerald and Scribbler. Kitty entets R and stands on steps in snf- 
prise. Scribbler approaches Kitty and explains with gestures. ) 

Sand, {approaches Gerald) My boy! My boy! Thank God that you are 
saved to us. 

Eva. {runs to Qq.x2\A) Oh! Gerald! my own dear Gerald, have you come 
back to us.? 

Gerald. Yes, Eva, I have returned, a free man once again I knew that 
heaven would not let me suffer for a crime which I did not commit. 

Eva. And Gerald, who did commit the murder.? 

Sand. Franklin Travers. 

^Y^ \ {starting) Great Heavens! 

Kate and Scrib talk up R. 



_^,j TUn TWO LOCKETS. 

Saftd. Gerald, this is Mr. Coats. To him and Mr. Scribbler here, you are 
indebted for your liberty. , -, .. 

Gerald. Words cannot express my gratitude, sir. But how is she? How is 
Martha? Think you, she will soon recover? {kneels ai side of bench) _ 

Chas. Yes, I have no doubt but she will presently regain consciousness. 
Tal<.e her, sir, and Le happy. Your sorrows, and her ov/n, are now ended. 
(He leavesyi2cci\\z. witfiGftxdXA and goes tcp /c^ Sanders. Gerald sits on bench 
and places Martha's head on his breast) 

Chas. Mr. Sanders for all your kindness and attention to my dear sister, 
you have my undying thanks. 

Sand. It is to you, my dear boy, that we are indebted for all our happiness. 
Would that I could, in some manner recompense you for it. 

Chas. I am very wealthy, but there is a jewel, sir, in your keeping, the 
possession of which, would enrich me ten fold. 
Sand. Where? 

Chas. {taking Eva's hatid) Here! I have loved your daughter from the first 
time I set my eyes upon her, with your consent, and her own, my happiness 
will be complete. (Eva bashfully turns aside) 

Sand. You may have my consent, sir, provided you can obtain her own. 
Chas. Enough. The prize is won, I read my answer in her blushing face. 
ifoLs Eva to his breast and kisses her) 

Sand, (/c Gerald) Well, Gerald, how is Martha? How is the dear child now? 

Gerald. I think she will soon recover. Martha! Martha! open your eyes 

and look at me, darling. It is I. Gerald Gray, who calls you. {jnusic. Martha 

opens her eyes, loos aroimd wildly, places her hand to her face, .creams, catches 

Gerald by the arm, and starts up from bench suddenly) 

Martha. My God! Is this a dream? Where have 1 been? What has hap- 
pened to me? 

Gerald. A dream it surely is darling. Surely you know your own Gerald. 
Martha. Eh! what? Gerald Gray alive, and before me? Yes, yes. 'Tis 
he, 'lis he. {runs to Gerald) 

Gerald. Thank God, thank God, for this. 

Chas. I knew the shock would restore her. Martha, my long lost sister, 
come to your brother's arms. 

Martha. What? My brother? {^looks a:/ Chas.) It is, it is indeed, {rwis 
to him) Oh! Charles, Charles, where d'd you come from? And Eva too, my 
own pet {kisses her) 

Sand. Is there no word for me, Martha? 

Martha. Ah! Mr. Sanders you believed me guilty, but here is my brother, 
now and he can tell you all. 

(Eva goes up to Gerald) 
I) LSand. Charles, can you ever forgive me for my ingratitude to your dear 
sister? I have been anything but kind to her. I accused her of the robbery, 
which I now find was committed by the rascal Travers, and I shall never for- 
give myself for it. 

Eva. Yes, this locket which I have around my neck was stolen from us; 
and the fact, that it was afterwards found in Martha's room, led my father to 
suspect her. 

Chas. Well, I know that to be her own property. 

Sand. You are mistaken, Charles. That locket was in my possession for 
many years, and is a token of my early love. 

Chas. Will you permit me to examine it, please? 
Eva. Certainly, {hands locket to Cho.s. zv ho opens it) 

Chas. {starting) My mother's pictiare. There is evidently some mistake, 
Mr. Sanders. This very locket was given to Martha at the death bed of her 
mother. There is a history connected with, it, which my mother communi- 
cated to me before her death, and waich my sister is entirely ignorant of. 
It is a story of love and the cruel separation of the young lovers, and event, 
which well nigh broke the heart of Martha Douglas 



ACT III. -11 

Sand, {greatly astonished) Martha Douglas! Great Heavens! can it be 
possible? and you are her son? a son of Martha Douglas? my first, my only 
love. Yes, yes, I see it now; oh, how blind I was not to have discovered it 
before. Here, Martha; come to my arms my pet. You are her child! 'J'hank 
God! thank God for this, {he embraces Martha) 

Gerald. But what does all this mean? Uncle, I do not understand it. 

Chas. Nor I. 

Martha. Now, I understand it all. 

Eva. And, so do I. {enter Spotter c. d) 

Spot. Mr. Sanders, what mystery is this? See, here is another locket, 
which was found in the valise, Ijelonging to Franklin Travers. {sJiows locket^ 

Sand. The two lockets! Heavens! what a singluar event, \_takes locket 
from Spotter) Look, Charles, here is the other tocket which, more than 
thirty years ago, was given me by Martha Douglas, your mother, do you un- 
derstand it now? 

Chas. I do! I do indeed. You are the Edwin Sanders of her early love. 

Sand. I am. 

Gerald. What a singular and happy development. 

Sand. Most happy for all. Martha, my dear, can you forgive me now, for 
the suffering which I have caused yuu to undergo? 

Martha. Foi'give you? Yes, and forget it too, in the happiness which I 
now enjoy, \_goes to G^xzXd^ 

Chas. A share of which belongs to us as well. Does it not, Eva? \ puts 
aem around her waisf^ 

Eva. Yes, Charles, I have never known what it was to be real happy, 
until now. \_lays head on his shoulder'] 

Gerald, [to Sciib] And what are Mr. Scribbler's feelings upon this occasion? 

Scrib. [coming doxvn with Kate] What should they be, think you Master 
Gerald? When Kitty here, has just promised to become Mrs. Jeremiah 
Scribbler. 

Kate, [bashfullyi] Scrib, don't mention it before the company. I want 
that to be kept a secret. 

Scrib, All right, my dear. Your wishes must be obeyed [they go up stage] 

Martha. Oh! Gerald, how my hea-t throbs with delight. This is indeed, a 
bright awaking from a sad, sad, dream. 

Gerald . Yes, darling, the clouds have passed away, and welcome sunshine 
now is ours at last. 

San. May it forever gild your future path through life, and lend its warmth, 
to keep alive the flame oflove which burns within your hearts, {coming dcncji) 
Oh! heaven be praised that I should live to see this day, that, after thirty 
years, redeems our pledge of love, and brings togethei, once again. The 
Two Lockets. 
(Eva vnd Chas. L. c. Martha and Gerald r. C. Scrib., Kate arid Spot back. 

Tableau — Curtain 



END OF DRAMA. 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 



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